


The Art of Being Invisible

by Cinlat



Series: Meet Me On The Battlefield [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Humor, Intrigue, Loneliness, Seduction, Star Wars - Freeform, The old Republic - Freeform, Torture, Violence, non-canon, sis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: Epoch is defined as a period of time in history or a person's life, typically one marked by notable events or particular characteristics.This is a collection of Fynta Wolfe's missions within Epoch. A sort of prequel/offshoot of Family is More than Blood.





	1. Recruitment pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> These stories will come in no specific order and will probably overlap each other as the ideas come to me. Sometimes in one shots, more often than not in parts. There will be lots of violence, death, probably some sex, and generally reckless behavior.
> 
> Also, I'm going off canon and throwing Theron Shan in there just because he's fun to play with. Lots of creative liberties have been taken. As usual, translations can be found in the footnotes.
> 
> I do not own the rights to anything Star Wars related.

**Carida**  
**Republic Defense Academy**  
**3648 BBY**

"I think you'll be pleased with the recruits we have to offer Agent…" The woman currently fishing for his name was a thick set human female, Theron estimated mid-forties, with mousy brown hair that refused to stay back in the regulation bun. Her brown eyes were dull and watery, and there was a foul smell on her breath from whatever she'd eaten for lunch. All in all, not who he expected to be his guide while searching out some new blood at the commando school.

The SIS had lost quite a few specialized agents as of late, and the higher ups had a new plan in progress. Above average soldiers who could double as agents. Short term, violent missions that the Republic military couldn't green light, and required the skill to do what was necessary. Luckily for Theron, he had high enough clout to be pulled along for the ride. That, and he could read people as well as any Jedi. It made him perfect for the recruitment process.

"How many will we be seeing today?" Theron asked, completely ignoring the woman's subtle inquiry. He wasn't under orders to keep it hidden, after all, he'd shown his ID upon entering the base; but it had become a game. How long could he remain anonymous while trudging through one of the most secure facilities in the galaxy? Also, because he was bored.

Major Sorell Men'jeer: forty-three, mother of two, wounded during the attack on Coruscant, and relegated to a desk job; fell short of the stimulating conversation. However, she was responsible for this particular commando school, so surely her file held more interesting information.

There were schools like it spread across the galaxy, so the SIS agent wasn't in a rush, and he sure didn't expect to strike gold on the first stop. However, he'd received an interesting tip from a trusted informant, they had a promising feeling about this place.

"We have six that match the specifications sent in by one…" Men'jeer checked her datapad, chewing on her lower lip while she scrolled through her messages. "Sen Dewu, would that be you?"

"No," Theron answered simply. To his utter amazement, the woman still didn't push.

"I must say, it was an interesting list of criteria Mr. Dewu sent us," the major continued. "Obviously, we train all our commandos thoroughly, but the added requirements seemed harsh even by our standards." She spoke in a pleasant tone as they walked, nodding to passing personnel, but Theron could hear the strain in her voice. He reevaluated his initial opinion on the woman. The major worried about her students, which was admirable, if not foolish in his line of work.

Senior Agent Dewu was Theron's current chain of command, however loosely the SIS followed such things. The Chiss was as tough as they came, he'd experienced both Imperial Intelligence and SIS training. Then proceeded to rewrite most of the criteria for up and coming SIS recruits, including, Theron himself. So, it was unlikely the list Men'jeer was scowling at held any surprises.

The two lapsed into silence when it became clear that Theron had no intention of elaborating on why they were seeking out these young people. Eventually, the major stopped and motioned him inside a dimly lit room. Theron's right eye adjusted automatically, forcing him to close his left temporarily to accommodate the sudden shift.

"Meet our six qualifiers," Men'jeer said with a wave of her hand. A one way mirror stood between them and six young beings of varying species; four males, two females.  _First order of business, begin weeding out the non-compatibles_ , Theron thought.

"The Bothan and the Kel'dor may leave, I can't use them." Their species were too recognizable. Not to mention, both were likely to be shot on sight, rather of taken prisoner by an Imperial. Theron sighed, he'd already narrowed it down to four. Granted, he wouldn't mind returning to this particular informant and to rub it in that she'd been wrong for a change.

Major Men'jeer leaned forward and pressed the intercom key, "Privates Vikar and Drega, you are excused and may return to your training."

The six soldiers froze while the major spoke, each looking up at the speaker in the corner of the room. Then the two aliens slapped their peers on the back and exited. Now that potential recruits knew they were being watched, the remaining four lined up against the wall and stood at attention. Two humans, a Duros, and a Rattataki half breed were left. Theron could work with that, maybe.

One quick blink activated the facial recognition program in the agent's left eye. A file, along with medical and disciplinary records, superimposed on Theron's cornea while he studied each individual. The human male was a guy named Jesbar Camtre, grew up on Dantooine, joined the army to see the universe and fight for freedom. He scored high marks on the firing range, but was brutal when it came to close quarter's kills. That could be a problem, because dead bodies equaled evidence.

_Moving on_ , Theron thought as he scanned the next recruit. The Duros male, Cain Mo, grew up on Duro, his species homeworld. He came from minor nobility and had joined the military as an act of rebellion. He also had the highest marks in his class when it came to strategic infiltrations. Mo might be one to watch.

Then there were the two females. The white skinned Rattataki with black facial tattoos and a few nasty scars over her cheeks and lips caught Theron's attention. She'd escaped her homeworld, but it had left her with too many identifiable marks. Shame, because no one scored higher in resisting interrogation.

With a shake of his head, Theron pointed her out, "Can't use the Rattataki woman either."

The major pressed the intercom key again, "Private Usresu, you're dismissed." The woman gave her companions a quick nod before slipping out the door, leaving Theron with only three left.

The final recruit was the human woman. She was absolutely average; thick build, drab, blond hair, and dark blue eyes. That sort of anonymity would work in her favor if she made the team. Fynta Wolfe: age, twenty-one. Orphaned. No known homeworld. Background included a few years working with mercenaries and bounty hunters. She even ran with the Black Sun for a few months before joining the military. The woman scored high marks in every category consistently. It was a side note from one of her drill sergeants that grabbed him.

"Unprecedented adaptability," Theron read aloud.

"Ah, yes. You must be talking about Specialist Wolfe. She's kept us on our toes," Men'jeer said with a smile.

"How so?" There was little else in the soldier's file apart from time spent with the Republic Military.

Men'jeer's smile grew. "That one broke out of isolation after putting another soldier in the infirmary. It was six hours before anyone noticed. We finally found her in her bunk with the rest of the squad. She claimed her cell's bed was disagreeable." The major sighed and crossed her arms. "The entire squad went two days without rations as punishment for neglecting to inform command of Wolfe's escape. They all said they forgot."

Seemed a little too spectacular to be true, in Theron's opinion. He was sure there was more to the story. "Why did she put the soldier in the infirmary?"

The major's smile slipped. "He didn't understand what the word  _no_  meant, apparently. The boy confessed to the assault after regaining consciousness and she was cleared of all charges." Men'jeer paused and cut her eyes at Theron. "Two days later."

Theron considered Wolfe again, then the two men. "Interesting. Alright, I'll take those three."

Major Men'jeer gaped at him before regaining her composure. "Very well, but there are discharge papers that must be seen to. It will take some time to—"

Theron held up his datapad, "Already done. Thank you for your cooperation, Major. Have a good day."

**Nar Shaddaa**  
**Red Light Sector**  
**SIS Training Facility**

"Three? That's all?" Sen Dewu scowled at the list in his hands. "You traveled to seven facilities, and all you brought back was three."

Theron shrugged. "You requested only the best." He waved his hand at the datapad. "Here they are."

The Chiss's blue lips pulled back into a vicious grin. "They are all from Carida. You know what that means?"

Theron rubbed the bridge of his nose and Dewu started to chuckle. "I thought so, it means she was right, again. And you have to tell her." The Chiss sighed when he didn't get a response from his protégé, and returned his attention to the list. "It'll probably end be the woman. You know that, right?"

Theron snorted in response. "Being tough isn't everything in this job. Wolfe sent that soldier to the infirmary for putting his hands on her. I doubt her mental stability. Especially with whatever you plan to throw at her, Blue."

The Chiss smiled, flashing dazzling white teeth against his dark blue skin. His red eyes took in the small group of commandos as they acquainted themselves with their new living environment. "Care to put your credits on that one?"

"I don't gamble on the job, it's unprofessional," Theron responded. Plus, he already owed Dewu one hundred and seventy credits.

Sen chuckled and turned to address the ops room. "Alright, begin. They've all scored top of their class, time to turn up the dial. Lights off in half an hour, then training begins at 19:33. I want to see their reaction to the life of a compromised SIS operative." Sen passed the datapad back to Theron and walked out.

The SIS agent turned back to the unseasoned youths on the screen, they weren't much younger than himself, but he'd been in this job so long that it already made Theron feel like an old man. As he watched the three soldiers climb into their beds, Theron sighed. It was going to be a long night.

**19:32**

The entire safe house was wired and monitored. This kind of thing had never been attempted before. Taking commandos and throwing them into the life of an SIS agent, then just sitting back to see what would happen. It was no wonder the observation room was full when the attack began just an hour after recruits had gone to sleep.

At 19:33 on the dot, a squad of heavily armed men burst through the door to the room and all hell broke loose. The screens were a blurred motion of chaos as the recruits responded instantly to the intrusion. They were barefoot, wearing simple shirt and shorts, faced by men in full armor. Yet not a single soldier hesitated to attack.

The human male, Jesbar Camtre, cannoned into two of the men, flattening them under his weight, while yelling at the Duros, to get their weapons. Fynta Wolfe snatched the lamp from her side table, smashing it into one of the agent's faceplate, knocking him backwards. She turned in time to catch the rifle that Cain Mo threw to her, and Camtre shouldered another soldier out of the way as they ran from the room.

The gathered SIS agents in the observation room laughed, placing bets on who would be the last one standing, and murmuring relief that they hadn't drawn the short straw on this drill.

"They work well as a team," Sen remarked, watching the images while stroking his completely hairless chin. "Let's give them some time; I want to see how they handle the stress of the noise." On the Chiss's command, a tech activated the sirens. Theron smirked at the screens as the young commandos ducked away from the sound, searching for escape routes. After all, the safe house was completely sealed. There were no exits.

**21:09**

The trio had traversed all six levels of the house, clearing rooms as they went. Each had been injected with trackers to monitor their vitals, and Jesbar Camtre was beginning to show signs of fatigue and stress. The man put his fist through a wall in frustration when yet another door led to a dead end. "There's no kriffing escape from this place!" Camtre dropped to a squat and pressed his hands over his ears.

Fynta Wolfe grabbed the man's collar and put her face in his. "Pull it together, soldier!" She waited for him to make eye contact and nod before elbowing past to study their surroundings.

Camtre stood and his eyes locked on one of the cameras. Theron knew the man hadn't made them, the devices were too small to detect. Still, Camtre leveled the rifle just as Wolfe turned and shouted, but it was too late. The screen went blank and several people in the observation room let out a cheer.

"We can at least shut these things up so it's easier to think," the man growled as another camera angle took up the blank screen to show Wolfe slamming Camtre against the wall.

"You shabbing idiot," she hissed. "Now they'll know our exact location."

Wolfe gave the man a rough shove and peeked over the banister of a stairway. "We need to split up to better our odds. Camtre, downstairs; Mo, you take the top level. I'll finish this floor."

The Duros, took off upstairs without hesitation. Camtre, on the other hand, glared at the woman for a few seconds before hefting his stolen rifle and heading down. Sen elbowed Theron with a grin. "They follow her orders. My credits are feeling pretty secure."

"I'll get in on that," another agent said, looking over one of the tech's shoulders. "My credits are on the Duros. His vitals haven't budged."

Theron was beginning to doubt his previous estimation, but if Dewu discovered it, he'd never hear the end of it. Sure, Specialist Wolfe's heart rate was elevated, but it wasn't erratic, not like Camtre's, at least. Leaning over to tap the tech's shoulder, Theron nodded at the Duros. "Take Mo first, see how he deals with being a hostage." The agent who'd just thrown his credits into the pot scowled at Theron when the tech nodded.

Sen slid red eyes over towards Theron. "You have a plan, don't you?"

"Who, me?" The man replied with an innocent shrug.

"Hey, Wolfe, I've got something," Mo called over the handrail, only half way up the stairs. He aimed a light into the darkness below, drawn by the movement of one of their hidden agents.

Wolfe took the stairs two at a time to reach his position and Theron had an idea. "Take the railing away, see what happens." The tech responded by pressing a few buttons and everyone leaned closer to the screens as the barrier gave way and the Duros fell. The hidden agent was prepared to catch the man, but it was unnecessary. Fynta Wolfe had Mo by the back of his shorts before the yelp had even left his blue, scaly lips.

Wolfe hauled Mo upright, hurling him against the wall with her hand flattened on his heaving chest. She leaned over the edge, holding her rifle on handed. "Looks like this house missed the last few inspections." She was cracking jokes, a fact not lost on those in the room as they gave approving nods.

"Where are we?" Mo finally managed.

Wolfe patted his chest in a sign of reassurance. "Somewhere that we need to escape, that's all that matters, soldier. Come on, let's find Camtre. I don't think our answer is up." She squeezed passed Cain Mo, who spared another look over the edge before following.

Sen sighed. "Tranq the Duros. I want to see what our girl is made of."

A shadow swung up onto the stairs behind the two soldiers and Wolfe turned a second too late. The agent in all black shot Cain Mo with a realistic blood splatter dart and the Duros's legs crumbled beneath him. Specialist Wolfe opened fire immediately, winging the agent with one of the fake bolts before he managed to snag the body and drag it off with him. Wolfe lunged for her comrade, just missing as the two vanished into the darkness again.

"Fierfek," she swore, and a new round of whoops went through the agents in the room. Even Sen was laughing.

"You know what that means. Care to reevaluate your initial prediction, Shan?" Theron ground his teeth. If this woman had ties to the Mandalorians, it would explain a few things. Sen was still chuckling as he gave the next command. "That's it, tranq the big guy too, I want to focus on her."

The images of the Camtre cut out just as SIS agents in heavy armor swarmed over him. His shouted curses echoed throughout the entire complex, making Specialist Wolfe drop low and turn her head to listen for his direction.

"Give her something to breach the wall with. Leave the Duros as a gift," Sen continued.

Theron glanced up at the Chiss with an arched eyebrow. "You're really getting into this."

Dewu shrugged as the tech pressed his finger to his ear and the agent that Wolfe clipped earlier, reappeared on the bottom floor. He injected Cain Mo with a serum to mimic death, slowing his heart rate to twenty beats per minute, then dropped him on the floor and proceeded to hang limp from his rappel line.

It didn't take long for Fynta Wolfe to reach the scene of the skirmish with Camtre. The man had put up quite a fight, though it hadn't done him much good. Wolfe paused at the bottom, her eyes no more than white slits in the camera's night vision. She bent to check the pulse of her comrade, hanging her head in acceptance of the loss, then crept closer to the agent. She fired twice more before approaching him completely, ensuring the enemy was dead.

"Good girl," Sen muttered, more serious than he had been moments ago. Although, Theron was sure that the agent on the screen would need a trip to the medcenter once this was over.

Everyone watched in silence as Fynta Wolfe took his weapons and explosives. She even stole the man's boots, which got a few chuckles from the gathered agents. Then she began checking the exterior doors for signs of weakness.

Sen backhanded Theron's shoulder, "Come on, time to get more personal."

**26:38**

Theron sat in a modified lounge, while a few other agents milled about looking properly Imperial. Sen sat across from him swirling a drink and looking as disinterested as usual. Curiosity had finally gotten the better of Theron. So, the agent sliced into the security cameras via the implant in his eye. Fynta Wolfe had already punctured one wall, ignoring all the doors. Now she was clearing the building, room by room.

The weapon the soldier carried was set to automatically shut down as soon as she breached this room, though Theron wondered if the techs setting the house up had considered her affecting entry through smoking debris. Either Wolfe had used all the grenades, or had one left. Theron would have him answer in less than thirty seconds.

Sure enough, the door burst open and Wolfe squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Two of the agents lunged at her and she used the weapon as a club, smashing one across the face before spinning out of the grasp of the second. Dropping, the commando hooked the rifle behind his feet and yanked them from under him. Wolfe had vaulted over the table to hurl a glass ashtray at another agent by the time Dewu managed to put his blaster to her head.

"Welcome, Specialist Wolfe," Theron said in his most polished Imperial accent from where he still sat in the chair. Wolfe froze as soon as she felt the barrel touch her skull, one fist poised to strike.

The woman glared at Theron as he stood, walking a bored circle around her. She still wore the simple black shorts and shirt, along with the stolen boots. Which gave Theron an idea to test her composure. He made a show of running his hand across Wolfe's stomach, up the side of her ribs, and between her shoulder blades. The woman trembled with pent up rage under his fingertips, but she didn't move. Grabbing her blond braid, Theron yanked her head back and put his lips next to her ear. "Give me a reason not to kill you now."

Wolfe cut her eyes at the disguised agent and smiled. "You obviously need me."

Her blatant lack of fear disqualified the woman in Theron's opinion. Even the toughest agents knew when to be afraid. It was how they used that emotion that made the difference. Fear could keep an agent alive, and Wolfe displayed a reckless disregard for her life. Almost a challenge to end it.

"I have other prisoners," Theron said, releasing Wolfe's hair to seat himself in the chair in front of her. "What makes you so special?"

That's when things took an interesting turn. Instead of reacting as the standard woman might, by offering her body in an attempt get close enough to kill him, or just in the hopes of staying alive a little longer. Specialist Wolfe spun on her toes to face Sen Dewu. Theron didn't see what exactly happened, but it evoked a startled yelp from the Chiss agent, followed by a big grin.

"Good girl," Sen repeated, then nodded to the men standing ready around the room. "Take her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Footnotes:
> 
> Fierfek [FIRE-fek] a Huttese slang word that meant "hex" or "curse," but was commonly accepted to mean "poison" by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.
> 
> Other Languages:
> 
> Kriff or Kriffing: a vulgar expletive


	2. Recruitment (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of how it all started. From here, things will take on a life of their own and I doubt there will be any discernable timeline. That should be fun, right?
> 
> Warning: References to physical and psychological torture.

**Nar Shaddaa  
Classified SIS Training Facility**

Water splashed across Fynta's face, startling her awake. Her shoulder ached insistently, but she bit back the groan that would have broken her silence. Giving an experimental tug, Fynta found that her hands were still secured behind her back. She blinked up into the bright light above her when someone ripped the bag off her head.

The fist caught Fynta off guard, her vision doubled as the chair she was sitting in rocked on two legs. "Come now," the smooth, Imperial voice crooned. "We've been at this for days. All I asked for was your age."

Fynta's ears rang from the sudden shift from complete silence to this shabuir's chatter, but he'd given her a timeline. The man who brought Fynta and her comrades here loomed over her, he was still wearing that damn red jacket too. He'd caught her looking at it a few times, and asked sarcastically if she wanted one. At that particular point, the temperature in the room must have been negative numbers. Right now, however, it was blazing.

Fynta glared through her left eye, the right was swollen shut, and the man shrugged. "Very well. I'll return in a few hours." The bag slipped back over her head, wreathing Fynta in darkness just as her eye adjusted to the light. His footsteps began to fade, and the screech of a metal door sliding along rusted tracks pierced her ears.

"It's been quiet lately," the man said softly. "How about a little noise to keep things interesting."

_Shabbing hut'uun_ , Fynta snarled inwardly as the alarms began to blare from everywhere at once. She hung her head in an attempt to shield her ears, wiggling her wrists in their bonds. What the hell could Imperials possibly hope gain from a commando recruit? She hadn't even seen field action. Could this have something to do with Verin; had he pissed off a client?

The theories swirled through Fynta's mind, each one more ludicrous than the last. Granted, Fynta's mind could be playing tricks on her. She hadn't eaten in . . . Fierfek. Days, according to the man in the red jacket.

The sirens wailed, and Fynta forced herself to concentrate despite the pounding in her head. _We've been at this for days_. She grasped onto those few words like a lifeline. Days. The word echoed again, meaning the time had come to get serious about getting the hell out of this place.

The temperature dropped suddenly, and Fynta shivered. Shab. Her cognitive abilities always shut down in cooler temperatures, as if her brain was seizing up.

_Think, Fynta._ It wasn't much, but knowing how long she'd been captive grounded her in some sort of reality other than pain and stimuli. Now that she could focus, rage squeezed Fynta's chest as the memories of her comrades slammed into the forefront of her mind, flooding her system with adrenaline, and an acute awareness of her surroundings.

Camtre and Mo were dead. Fynta's inquisitor had taken her on a field trip ninety-two hours after her capture. He'd hefted her bodily, and tossed her into a room that reeked of decay. Then removed the hood to show Fynta the battered and bloated bodies of her fellow soldiers. _"They didn't measure up,"_ the man had mocked. Then, he left her there for another sixteen hours.

Taking a steadying breath, Fynta vowed revenge. Camtre was an idiot, but he didn't deserve that; and Mo had been a friend. _Pull it together_ , her inner voice growled. She would drive herself insane trying to consider all the angles. That wasn't her strong suit. Escape should be her main concern.

The extreme changes in temperature, the variation between silence and chaotic noise, the constant darkness pierced brutally by unexpected brightness; it was all getting to Fynta. Adding on top, the lack of sleep and refresher breaks, and she was nearing her limit. The pain no longer registered, which would have been a relief, had Fynta not known it was a sign of her body shutting down.

For the longest time, Fynta had clung to her internal clock, monitoring the hours. Then, she'd fallen asleep and that string of sanity was severed. Now, she had it back, and was more motivated than ever to escape this shabbing dump.

Fynta's wrist slipped, pulling her from the safety of her thoughts, and back into the deafening noise of her prison cell. It was getting cold again, and even though her fingers were numb, Fynta could feel the warmth running down her hand. She tested the bonds and her wrist slid a little further. She was bleeding. Heavily, if the trickle of fluid dripping off her index finger was any indication.

If it got as cold as last time, maybe her body would filter a sufficient amount of blood to her core, allowing Fynta's wrists and hands to constrict enough to slip free. Fynta pulled forcefully this time and felt more give. _Not quite yet. But soon._ She just needed to keep the blood flowing long enough to lubricate the restraints. Then, she'd find a weapon.

**Observation Room**

"Still nothing?" Dewu asked as Theron returned to the observation room. The senior agent had cleared everyone out once interrogation started. Now, it was just them and a couple of techs.

"Nope, she's being tight lipped about everything; why she singled you out, where she was born, even her kriffing name," Theron complained, massaging his knuckles. "I think she actually _likes_ the pain."

Theron hated interrogation. He was much happier slicing into a computer to steal data, rather than beating it out of a prisoner. But Sen admitted that it had been awhile since he'd taken part in a proper interrogation, whereas, the bruises from Theron's last op were still fresh. Granted, those Imperials weren't as creative as the demented Chiss standing at Theron's side.

"If she's Mando, she could be a real candidate for what we need. They train young for this stuff." Dewu crossed his arms, and nodded his head. "Look at this."

Theron leaned closer to the screen. "That's an alarming amount of blood. Should we call it off?"

They'd put Fynta Wolfe through the works, and she'd responded with a bloody smile, even the occasional laugh. In fact, the only time Theron had seen any real emotion from the damn woman was when she retched all over his boots after throwing her in with those two cadavers. Of course, Camtre and Mo were safely back at the academy with a hell of a hangover, but Specialist Wolfe didn't known that. The SIS hosted some of the best plastic surgeons in the galaxy. Giving the corpses a believable makeover had been simple.

"No, not yet. Watch her elbows."

Theron stared at the seemingly still soldier. Sure enough, her arms were twitching. "She's making her move."

It wasn't a question. An hour earlier, Theron thought the woman had finally snapped. Yet, the image he was watching looked like a textbook escape plan.

The Chiss nodded, and began to rub his chin. "She could cut too deep, severing the nerves and making it impossible to hold a blaster."

"Or just bleed out," Theron commented.

Sen considered the screen a few minutes more before reaching out to tap the monitor that contains her vitals. Fynta Wolfe's heart was pounding, but it still remained even. "She's got a plan; let it play out. Alert her guard, though. I want to make sure she doesn't kill the man. He isn't to attempt restraining her, just let himself be overwhelmed."

"Going soft on the recruits, Big Blue?"

Dewu grinned, once again showing off the staggering contrast between his deep blue skin and white teeth. "That girl is running on pure adrenaline. I'm trying to ensure she doesn't kill any of our people."

Theron chuckled, "Sure you are."

Dewu smacked Theron on the back of the head. "Just do it. I'm going to set up a welcome party."

* * *

The bag over Fynta's head was the first thing to go. As soon as her hand slipped free of the bonds, Fynta ripped it off, and took the deepest breath she'd had in days. It wasn't perfect, but at least it didn't smell of stale saliva and sweat. Bag or no, the room was still pitch black, and the sirens continued to wail, but she was free. Well, free-ish. It was definitely a step in the right direction.

Bolstered by her newfound mobility, Fynta dropped to the floor and crawled in the direction she'd heard the jacketed man retreat so many times. It took some groping around, but she finally found the edge of the door. To her surprise, it wasn't controlled by some fancy biometric lock, but a simple handle. It wasn't even locked.

The door creaked open noisily and as expected, a rifle stock shot over her head. She'd purposefully stayed in a crouch to avoid just such an eventuality. The guard gave a startled gasp as his momentum carried him forward and Fynta helped him the rest of the way by slamming her elbow into his back. The man landed on his knees with a grunt, and Fynta snatched the first weapon she could get her hands on before darting into the hallway and slamming the door behind her. She flipped the bolt out of spite, locking the room.

Shutting her eyes to the painful brightness outside, Fynta listened. No running footsteps; no shouts of alarm. Either she was surrounded by silent soldiers, or her escape was off to a successful start. Fynta focused on the latter option, and began blindly groping her way down the hall, holding her stolen weapon in a tight fist, while listening to her surroundings. It was difficult, the ringing in her ears was at odds with the silence in the hallway.

Slowly, the light filtering through her eyelids began to burn less, and Fynta risked peeking her left eye open. It was blurry, but she could see the clean, white hallway and the knife in her blood soaked hand. _Shab_. Fynta hadn't realized she was bleeding so badly.

After a quick glance down the hall to ensure she was still alone, Fynta used the blade to cut a strip from her already shredded shirt. Grumbling at the mess her captor had made of it. Holding the knife between her teeth, she wrapped her wrists tightly, wincing as sensation crept back into her lower arms and hands. Flexing her fingers, Fynta grabbed the blade again, and began working her way through the compound.

* * *

"She's two floors up-ouch," Theron chuckled. He'd patched into the security cameras to watch the woman leave a trail of destruction through the upper floors. Sen Dewu had ordered a strategic retreat of all personnel, and Specialist Wolfe seemed to be taking the drawdown personally.

"She hasn't permanently hurt anyone, has she?" Dewu asked as the two agents traversed the floors parallel to their target.

Theron smirked. "Not yet, but Ganner might benefit from hazard pay." The man was on his back with Wolfe sitting on his chest, her blade pressed to his throat. They glared at one another while she demanded to know where she was and who he worked for. Wolfe lost interest in questioning her unresponsive target when the lift doors opened. She knocked Ganner unconscious and darted inside the elevator.

"She's in."

Dewu smashed his fist against the lift call button and crossed his arms while they waited. Sure enough, Specialist Wolfe was heading for the surface, her trip being interrupted by a stop on their floor. The doors slid apart and Theron locked eyes with the woman. Her face contorted into a snarl and she lunged for him, blade ready. Theron fell back, surprised by the ferocity of her attack. Her blade scraped across one of the alloy implants his left eye, producing a spark.

Dewu was on her in an instant, landing on the woman's back, and pinning her to the floor with his weight. He grunted when she elbowed him in the ribs before managing to pin her wrists. The Chiss chuckled and turned to check on Theron. "She didn't damage your pretty face, did she?"

Theron grumbled as he scrambled to his feet to aid in restraining the recruit. This time, they each grabbed a wrist and lifted Fynta into a sitting position. The woman snarled and struggled, but her blood loss and fatigue were beginning to show. "She has spirit," Theron admitted, losing his Imperial accent. "Or she's completely insane. But, she's clever."

Fynta Wolfe eyed them, her struggling stopped, as the woman attempted to interpret the meaning behind their words. "SIS," she hissed. The name was a curse everywhere in the galaxy, including the Republic.

Dewu nodded, sitting back on his heels and releasing Wolfe's arm. Turning his head towards Theron without taking his eyes off the woman, he smiled. "I think you're correct. Let's clean her up and have a doctor look at her." The Chiss stood and dusted his pants off, refusing to look Theron in the eye as his smile grew. "You're responsible for her training, Shan."

Theron grumbled quietly as he twisted the recruit's wrist, wringing a pained growl from Fynta, until she finally dropped the blade. For all the venom in her voice, Wolfe didn't lash out with her free hand, though.

Sen paused at the lift, waiting patiently for the elevator to arrive. When he looked back, red eyes slid over the soldier still sitting on the floor, and he smirked. "I want her in my squad." The doors opened and Dewu disappeared inside.

Theron sighed and released the woman's arm, being sure to stand away from her. He was prepared for another attack even as he adopted a casual stance, arms crossed. Wolfe glared up at him, cradling her wrist. There was intrigue in those dark blue eyes and he wondered if Dewu might be right about her. _I guess that means introductions are in order._ "Hello, Specialist Wolfe. My name is Theron Shan. Welcome to Epoch."

Instead of the expected aggression, demands for her freedom, or even a disbelieving laugh, Fynta Wolfe surprised Theron yet again. The woman threw herself onto the floor, lying on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Only one word left her lips, more of a sigh than an expletive.

"Fierfek."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> Shabuir: [SHAH-boo-EER] extreme insult - jerk, but much stronger
> 
> hut'uun [hoo-TOON] coward (worst possible insult)
> 
> Fierfek [FIRE-fek] a Huttese slang word that meant "hex" or "curse," but was commonly accepted to mean "poison" by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.
> 
> shab - excrement (used as a curse)
> 
> Other Languages:
> 
> Kriff or Kriffing: a vulgar expletive


	3. Black Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a graduation exam seemed fun, plus I've poked at some game canon for down the road. Hope you catch it.

 

**Nar Shaddaa**  
**Black Sun Territory  
** **3647 BBY**

"Okay, you understand the mission specs, right?" Theron asked again. Fynta rolled her eyes as the two sped towards the Black Sun's territory. The thugs had managed to carve out a large chunk of the underground for themselves, and were getting more ambitious in their endeavours. Granted, that had nothing to do with their mission, but it was certainly something to keep an eye on.

"Yes, dad," Fynta replied, banking the car at an alarming angle.

Theron suppressed a sigh as he studied the map of the compound they were supposed to infiltrate while Fynta drove. They'd worked together for nearly a year now, this being her first, officialmission with Epoch. If she succeeded, Theron would be released from babysitting duty, and allowed to return his real job. The woman was a stubborn student, and being forced to live with her day and night was exhausting. She was always moving, getting into scuffles, and inciting general mischief alongside the other recruits in the SIS safe house.

"First stop," Wolfe chimed as the air car pivoted and dropped into an empty spot. Theron threw a hand out to brace against the dashboard, leaving his stomach somewhere behind them in the unorganized skylanes. The man muttered as he clambered out of the open roofed air car, ignoring Fynta's snickers.

"That was excellent." She stood admiring the shiny, red surface with hands on hips. Theron was sure the woman was being a particular pain in the ass today just because she knew how much he wanted it to be over.

"Yeah, real subtle," Theron grumbled.

He had a blaster strapped to his hip, and was outfitted with his usual array of tricks and toys, including his custom made bracers containing a pinpoint blaster, or poison dart, depending on the target. Theron also wore a thin layer of fibermesh under his shirt and red jacket, though he always hoped there wouldn't be a need to test the sturdy fabrics efficiency.

Fynta, on the other hand, wore tight, mock leather pants with a thigh holster, a white undershirt that displayed the barest peek at her tanned midriff, and an equally tight black vest that did nothing to hide the cleavage spilling out through the V-neck. Theron had protested initially, saying there was no way she could fit armor under that outfit. At least, until she'd removed the vest and tossed it to him. He'd caught it on instinct, grunting when the unexpected weight of durasteel sewn into the lining took him in the gut.

The two newcomers were immediately subjected to suspicious glares from the locals. Theron noticed someone whispering to a skinny kid, who then disappeared deeper into the Black Sun's territory. "Stay sharp," Theron murmured.

Fynta grinned, projecting an aura of casual ease. "No need to tell me. I'm quite familiar with these chakaar." Pulling a mirror from a pleasantly shaped back pocket, the woman feigned checking her make-up. Making a show of applying another layer of lipstick, she puffed out her lips to hide her words. "There are three armed men watching us over by that door. Two more in the alleyway," she said in a low voice.

Theron nodded in approval. This was a job where women had the advantage, being able to use all many of cosmetics to conceal their actions. Circling around the car, the SIS agent draped an arm around her shoulders. "I spotted another pair by that droid. They aren't exactly repairing it." He saw a twinge of a smile, she must have seen it too. Those two clearly knew nothing about droids, and if they tried to activate it, they'd blow half the block. Hopefully, he and Fynta be back at the house by then, watching it on the holonews, instead of in person.

The streets were littered with trash and the people wore thin, drawn features. Theron spared a glance at his partner. Despite her lazy gate, he could feel the rigidity in Fynta's shoulders. Her previous statement about being familiar with the Black Sun gave Theron the impression they hadn't parted ways peacefully.

Fynta tensed when a man staggered towards her, swaying with a bottle in his hands. Theron made an attempt at steering her away, but the blond tripped, pulling free of his embrace, and throwing herself directly in the path of the drunk.

"Whoa'there, lid-lid-" the man sputtered, leaning forward to squint at Fynta's chest. "Heh, not so little-lady, eh." Then he tipped forward. Fynta caught him just long enough to screech an obscenity before discarding him to the side. The man smacked into the wall and slid down, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Fynta dusted herself off and returned, casually snaking an arm around Theron's waist, and pulling him towards their target. He was immensely curious about her little display, but knew better than to ask. He'd figure it out sooner or later.

The two took a lift to the lower levels, neither of them speaking. Unfortunately, they were joined by three bulky men carrying assault rifles one floor from their destination. Without warning, Fynta grabbed the collar of Theron's jacket and jerked him against her. Theron put his hands against the wall to keep from crushing her with his weight. She pressed her lips to his, and Theron suddenly understood. It all took less than two seconds, but the men climbing on the elevator got a good chuckle at catching a young couple trying to sneak a few private moments on the lift.

"Oy, you two. Ger' a room," one of the men laughed gruffly.

Fynta peeked under Theron's arm and offered a shy smile. By then, the doors were sliding open to the floor they needed. Theron and Fynta slipped out, leaving nothing more than the image of two, faceless lovers on an elevator.

"A little warning, next time?" Theron groused, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

Fynta snorted a humorless laugh. "Don't worry, all apart of the job." Her lips twitched into an aggravating smile. _That woman is going to pass this mission, I'll be damned if I'm stuck with her another year._ Theron couldn't argue with her tenacity on the job, she was good, but her social skills only had one setting. Infuriating.

A few heavily muscled men stood around a fire lit in a trash canister in front of the door Theron needed to get through. They wore shirts with the sleeves ripped off to show arms twice the size of his own, and they were covered with gang tattoos. Each wore the same haircut, shaved on the sides, high on top.

Theron paused to consider the scene, formulating a plan of how to get inside to find their target. That was his first mistake, because Fynta _never_ paused to think. He really should have known better. When Theron turned to offer his suggestion, the blond was gone. Glancing around quickly, he spotted her staggering towards the guards, a bottle that looked suspiciously like the one the drunk upstairs had been carrying in her hand. _I need to collar that woman. A shock collar._ Theron halted mid-thought. _No, she'd probably enjoy it._

Fynta let out a raucous laugh, tipping the bottle up to ensure her breath smelled of booze. She swayed from side to side as if drunk, catching the attention of the three men blocking the door to the Black Sun's headquarters. Theron crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to watch the show.

One of the men elbowed another, saying something that caused him to burst into laughter.

"Hey, you!" The third called.

Fynta straightened and stalked towards them, exaggerating the roll of her hips, further capturing the guards' attention. Then she stumbled into one of them, voice light and flirty. "Who, me?"

The men surrounded Fynta on all sides, blocking her mostly from view. Theron had seen the woman fight her way through the SIS compound after nine days of torture. These three knuckleheads wouldn't make her break a sweat. It was the first time he'd seen Specialist Wolfe truly use her sexuality to her advantage, though. She performed a lot better the field than she had in training. Theron tried not to take it personally.

The one who'd first taken notice spoke in a deep voice. "You look a little unsteady . . . need any assistance?" There was an unpleasant smile on his lips, while the other two snickered like school boys.

"Oh-no." Fynta waved at them playfully, pushing off the one she had been leaning against. "I was at my girlfriend's' place-she and her old man finally split, he was a real loser-" she teetered dangerously to one side. and one of the men slid a hand around her hip, winking at the others. "What was I sayin'? Oh, yeah. Anyway, so we were jus' celebratin' and I had to leave, they were gettin' way too wild for me."

Fynta leaned in close to the man, sounding as if she were trying to whisper, and failing. "Do you know what that many women can do, with that much booze, and a Twi'lek dancer?" The commando shook her head vigorously, braid slapping against her back. "You know what they say about those males. I'm not gettin' mixed up in _that_ mess." There was an attempt to straighten that turned into stumble. "I've got class."

Theron's eyebrow shot up at that last remark.

The man settled his other hand on her hip aswell, turning Fynta to face him, swinging her side to side playfully. "Sure you do, hon." The other two men exchanged glances while the first coaxed more information from her. "Sounds like it might get out of control . . . er, where did you say this was taking place?"

Fynta pointed in a vague direction, back towards the elevators, then doubled over like she was going to vomit. The guy yanked his hands away, and the others recoiled. "We'll look into this. Make sure no one gets hurt," the first assured.

All three men took a step back and edged around the heaving woman, then starting off at a jog in their haste to find the party Fynta had promised them. Theron perched against the wall, completely ignored, until the guards vanished from sight.

"That was . . . unorthodox," the SIS agent commented as he joined his partner.

Fynta straightened with a grin, chucking the bottle into the fire. "It worked," she protested. "I thought I was quite convincing."

"That you were," Theron agreed. "Do you know where you sent them?"

"Nope, but hopefully we'll be out of this place before they return." She paused to look up at Theron, arching an eyebrow. "Would you rather I have just shot them? It would have saved time."

"Don't be a smartass, Wolfe," Theron grumbled, motioning for her to get inside.

"Of course not, that's your job." Fynta stuck her head through the doorway, looking side to side, before casting a glance over her shoulder. "Shall we?"

The inside of the headquarters was no cleaner than the slums outside. There were no guards in sight, but judging by the number of dark hallways reaching out in different directions, this was going to be far from easy. "So, which way?" Fynta asked.

Theron pulled up the schematics on his datapad and nodded to the left. "According to intel, our guy is down there."

Fynta glanced over his elbow, her expression serious for a change, then nodded. "Then we should take the right."

Theron balked as the woman headed down the opposite hallway. "Where are you going?" He hissed, jogging to catch up. "Intel says he's down that one." Theron waved his hand behind him in furious circles.

"Yes, it does." Fynta slid her eyes over to him. "When was the last time you received accurate intel?"

Theron growled, but he couldn't refute her claim. The SIS was notorious for bad intelligence, simply because to took so long to put an op together. By the time everything was ready, things had changed. That's why they needed soldiers like those forming the new ghost squads. Individuals who were trained for the black ops missions, but could operate outside of Republic law. Soldiers who could go places the bureaucrats couldn't.

They traversed the rest of the way in silence until Fynta found a door that was bolted shut. Her commando training had taken over, making her more aggressive. The woman leaned back and put her boot to it twice, tearing the obstacle from its hinges. Inside sat the scientist they were looking for, bound to a chair and gagged, with a single flickering light above him.

Theron rubbed his forehead, shutting his eyes to the arrogant grin he knew Specialist Wolfe would be aiming at him. He was never going to hear the end of this.

* * *

"Guess they didn't find the party you promised," Theron complained over the din of blaster fire.

Fynta held the scientist down behind some crates while she fired her blaster at the guards. The shabuirs had returned sooner than expected, leading Fynta to the conclusion that she really should have shot them to begin with.

"Got any other brilliant schemes, Wolfe?" Theron was across the hall, returning fire from around a doorframe. He scored a hit on one of the gangsters, and ducked back into the room to reload.

Meanwhile, Fynta pushed the scientist against the wall with her knee, using her body to shield his. The man had been through enough trauma, he didn't need an extra hole in his body. He was a simple pharmaceutical guy. No doubt the Black Sun wanted him to spike their narcotics, probably spice, since that seemed to be the drug of choice these days.

"These mir'shebs are getting on my shabbing nerves," Fynta griped. She looked down at the scientist cowering at her feet, a man in his fifties with a receding hairline, and more wrinkles than she expected for his income level. "Don't move." He shook his head quickly, loose flesh shaking under his chin.

Fynta vaulted over her shelter, ignoring the shout of her name, as she ran at the remaining guards. Both stopped firing, staring at her stupidly, until Fynta was on them. She jumped, planting both feet in the closest man's chest. When she landed on her shoulder, Fynta growled at the pain that shot into her jaw and down her hip, but kept her aim steady as she put four bolts into the torso of the other guard.

Theron ran up behind her, hooking a hand under Fynta's arms, and hoisting her upright. "That was stupid, Wolfe," he growled, taking aim at the stunned man lying on the floor.

Fynta forced the barrel of Theron's blaster down, stepping between him and the guard. Before he could ask what she was thinking, the commando squatted to look the guard in the eyes. He was clutching his chest, eyes wide as he stared at the pistol in her hand. Snapping her fingers, Fynta pulled the guy's attention to her face. "The Red Hulls send their regards." With that, she flipped her blaster around to club the man over the head.

Theron had his arms crossed when she stood to retrieve their objective. "Clever," he admitted, albeit, grudgingly. "You just made this look like a rival gang attack."

Fynta hoisted the old man to his feet and almost carried him out by his collar. "Need to make it look good, right?" The man didn't complain, just scuttled along plaintively.

The SIS agent fell in beside her, throwing a sidelong look her way. "The Red Hulls?"

Fynta shrugged. "It was the first name that came to mind."

* * *

After delivering their target to safety, and sitting through a shabbing four our debriefing, Fynta flopped onto her bed in the tiny room supplied by the SIS. Her armored vest still hung from one shoulder simply because it hadn't immediately fallen off when she'd unbuttoned it. Giving a half hearted twist, the garment finally clunked to the floor. Fynta shut her eyes and buried her face into the pillow with a heavy sigh.

Someone knocked on her door. Fynta ignored them. Within a minute, the door slid open, and Theron Shan let himself in. "You should lock that, you know."

"It was," Fynta growled into her pillow. Rolling onto her side, she propped her head on one hand to look up at the SIS agent. "What do you want, Shan?"

The man dropped a black bag on her desk, some sort of gear from the looks of it. "Your graduation present. I'm leaving first thing in the morning for Coruscant to explain why I've been dark for the last eight months." He crossed his arms and smiled. "I thought I'd drop this off as a peace offering."

Fynta pushed off the bed and snatched the gift off her desk, watching Theron suspiciously. Inside, she found a new datapad-top of the line too, a slicing kit, and an old fashioned lock picking set. The sentiment behind the token was almost heartwarming. Granted, she planned on sweeping every piece for bugs.

"You know, Shan," Fynta began, looking up from the items in her hands. "You're sometimes a decent human being."

The SIS agent held up his hands and back towards the door. "I'm flattered an all, Wolfe. But it would never work." He ducked out the door, vanishing from Fynta's life just as abruptly as he'd come into it.

"Mir'sheb," she muttered with a subdued grin. She'd passed the test, making her an official member of Epoch.

Fynta tossed the kit back on the desk and flopped back on the bed, throwing an arm across her eyes. _Great, now I'm a shabbing SIS soldier._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> chakaar [chah-KAR] corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse
> 
> shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] extreme insult - jerk, but much stronger
> 
> mir'sheb [MEER-sheb] smartass


	4. Target Acquired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, we have now diverged from a linear timeline. This story is set roughly two years or so into Fynta's Epoch career. Yes, they are apparently sleeping together, no I haven't quite figured out how that happened, but I'm sure it'll make a fun story when I do. This oneshot has actually been floating around for a while, I just finally got around to editing it. I wanted to explore how Fynta might have gotten her infamous tattoo. Also, I'm a sucker for chance, past meetings. I may or may not add this into Family is more than Blood. Honestly, I'm still on the fence. Regardless, hope you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to torture, and senseless murder. Plenty of violence.

**3646 BBY**   
**Republic Space Station**

Theron paced out his nervous energy while Fynta watched. He had yet to look up from his datapad. As many times as he'd read that file, Fynta was amazed he didn't have it memorized by now. Still, she remained quiet, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed under her, with chin propped in her hands. Fynta's flight left in thirty minutes, and Theron was wasting valuable time pouring over deals to an op he had no part in. Finally, he stopped and rounded on her, "I don't like."

Fynta raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's nice, but you're not supposed to."

Theron snorted and resumed pacing. "This should go to another agent. You're too young," he growled at last.

Fynta rolled her eyes. "Theron, I'm twenty-two, an old maid by my own Mando standards." He glared at her as he made another pass. He'd never let her age be an issue during their frequent _post mission debriefs_. Fynta had only been twenty when that started. Seeing that her argument did nothing to soothe his annoyance, she sighed. "Look, I'm only telling you because you're my handler, and I'd like someone to know where I am if things go bad."

Theron stopped and held out his arms. "That's the thing, Fynta. I can't pull you out if things go bad. Not on Ilum. Republic personnel are expressly prohibited. Not to mention going through Orvax IV. Whose brilliant idea was that?"

"Mine," she said simply. "Moff Trenton likes to shop there."

Shan's green eyes shone with anger, even if his voice stayed calm. "How many agents know about it?"

"Four, I made sure to keep this one close." Fynta uncurled herself from a sitting position and moved to his side, reaching over his elbow to scroll to the flight time. Then, raising another eyebrow at him, continued on in a strictly business like tone. "I've got a contact that says this ship is scheduled to be hit by slavers bound for Orvax IV. I need to be on that shuttle, Theron."

He frowned at the screen. "A contact?"

Fynta grinned and patted his shoulder. "You aren't the only one with a handy Twi'lek on the side, Shan."

That remark pulled a full on scowl from the man, maybe bringing Teff'ith into this was pushing it a little too far. She wasn't even supposed to know about his Twi'lek side project anyway. Theron stared at Fynta for a few more seconds, then closed his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket. "Here," he said, holding out a ticket. When his eyes opened again, there was a grim determination in them. "I don't like sending you in there. Moff Trenton is a monster."

Fynta plucked the ticket from his fingers and grabbed her bag. "I've handled monsters before." With her hand on the doorknob, she looked back at the SIS agent. "I'll see you after?" He didn't speak, merely nodded. Fynta had a feeling she would need Theron once she was done with this one. If she survived.

* * *

Aric Jorgan prided himself on his skill as a sniper, but a sniper was only as good as his spotter, and the Deadeye's newest recruit was as fine a spotter as the Cathar had seen. He just needed a little guidance, which was why Lieutenant Vorne had partnered the two together. Jorgan had just made executive officer in the elite sniper squad, and he held that position with pride. Which was why it irritated him so much when the young, brunette naval officer slipped her hand into his while he was on the way to the debrief.

"Fancy meeting you here, Sergeant," Synmari crooned. "How long will you be in? I ship out again tomorrow."

As tactfully as he could, Jorgan pulled from her grasp and nodded to a passing officer, he didn't know the man's name, but they'd been nodding to one another for a few years now. "I'm not sure," he answered once the man was out of earshot.

Ensign Synmari Daplo was an attractive woman by anyone's standards. She had shoulder length brown hair, big hazel eyes, and pouty lips. Her skin was light brown and smooth to the touch. Were they not in uniform and walking through a military outpost, Jorgan may have taken her up on the implied offer. As it was, he had duties to attend to; and a reputation to uphold. "Torv and I are scheduled for a debriefing, I can comm you when it's over, if it isn't too late."

Synmari pressed plump lips into a thin line and the softer aspects of her face grew harsh. "Sure. If not, I'll see you in three months." Jorgan stopped when she turned sharply and marched off towards the battle cruiser she was stationed on. With a sigh, he realized he'd somehow given the wrong answer. Again.

Torv was waiting outside Lieutenant Vorne's office with a boyish grin. He'd leaned himself against the wall with his arms crossed, tilting slightly to the left to look around Jorgan at Syn's retreating form. "Hey, she's not half bad, Sergeant. I never considered you for the fraternizing type."

As a general rule, Jorgan considered his love life off limits, however, since his spotter was so keen to speak his mind, the Cathar figured he could at least set the boy straight. "She's navy, we're army. Perfectly acceptable."

Torv held his hands up in mock surrender, but the grin stayed fixed. "I wasn't objecting. Hope I can find me a piece like that. Anyway, you ready?"

Unclenching the fingers that Jorgan hadn't realized he'd squeezed into fists, he forced a calming breath. "Let's go."

**Orvax IV**

_So far so good. I've gotten myself caught by shabbing slavers_. Fynta stood in a line with the other women, stripped down to her underwear, and shaking with fear in a humid room with bland metal walls. She'd spent the last six months eating only enough calories to keep her body from shutting down, forcing herself into the scrawny thing she now appeared as. Slaves shouldn't have well defined muscles or proper body fat unless they were male. Females were malnourished, too weak to fight back, and terribly thin. It was uncomfortable, looking down and being able to see her hip bones and ribs, but now she blended in with the other women on the slave planet, which meant she would spend less time in reconditioning.

Fynta's target, Moff Trenton, had an affinity for fiery blonds and lethans. Those were rare, so as long as the slavers didn't find any of the red skinned Twi'leks, her chances of catching the man's eye when he came shopping were pretty high. The timing had to be perfect though, which was why her current appearance was so important. If she were held up anywhere in the process, she might miss her mark, then Fynta would be in deep osik.

A woman towards the front of the line screamed as the T'surr guard grabbed her by the hair and dragged her from the line. The blue skinned beast held her black hair in one of his four hands, while another grasped the woman's upper arm. He shoved her down on her knees roughly in front of a higher ranking male, even bigger, probably two and a half meters tall, and snarled.

The dominant T'surr wore a red cape over his shoulders, marking his rank as a warden. He regarded the woman with all four of his solid red eyes, then sniffed the air around her. Bared a mouthful of razor sharp teeth in an unspoken command, the one who had presented her pulled a blaster and fired it into the back of her head.

Another guard cracked a whip, and the women surged forward, being herded into the next room for the subsequent inspection. A few had begun to sob quietly as they filed passed the woman sprawled across the filthy floor. Fynta would find out later that her only crime had been that she was pregnant. Pregnant slaves didn't bring in enough credits. Fynta forced herself to look at the woman's face, a grim reminder of why she was doing this in the first place. Moff Trenton was one of the biggest slave traders in the Empire, and she was going to watch his empire burn.

**Coruscant**

Theron Shan had been an absolute nightmare over the last several weeks. He was obsessed with the op being carried out by one of his agents, a sergeant by the name of Fynta Wolfe, part of the joint military/SIS squad Epoch. Being a tech meant that Liam Vanshi got all the goods, even the ones he wasn't supposed to have. He had to admit though, while Theron's constant hovering made reporting back to command more difficult, it gave Liam the an excuse to watch for updates. He was sitting on a bombshell. A collar like this could skyrocket his career in Imperial Intelligence. Only problem being, no one had seen fit to write down who the target was. Only that she was targeting slavers.

"Got anything?" Theron asked, leaning a hand beside Liam's terminal.

"Not yet, sir," he answered, his Imperial accent completely indistinguishable from the Republic one he now slipped into effortlessly. It had taken three years to get into this chair. Three years of looking over his shoulder, while he siphoned off minute threads of encoded data to reassemble in his nominal free time, and transfer to command back on Dromund Kaas. It was exhausting work, but if he could figure out _this_ puzzle . . . well, the opportunities were limitless. "Who's her target? Maybe I can keep an eye out for the guy's transport."

Theron shook his head, "Even I don't know that. Just that he's bad news." The man sighed and rubbed his free hand down his face. "Alright, let me know as soon as you have anything."

"Understood, sir," Liam responded, watching the man walk from the room. He was lying, of course. Theron knew exactly who she was after. Pretty soon, Liam would too.

**Orvax IV**

Fynta spun around and landed on her face on the dirty floor. She was laughing, mostly because it annoyed the T'surr guard even more, and she had a show to put on. Moff Trenton's henchman had finally shown up for their next haul of slaves and word had it they were looking for girls for the fighting pits. Well, fighting was something Fynta excelled at, though, she was taking a gamble on pissing off the guard. It could either show her spunky side, or it could make her look like too much of a handful. Meaning she had to fight back with her mouth, not her fists, not that she could take him. The creature was huge.

Pushing up to her knees, Fynta sat back on her feet, and gave him a bloody smile. "That all you got?" She climbed to her feet and swayed side to side, refusing to give the T'surr the satisfaction of knowing he'd dazed her. "Maybe try three hands next time."

He snarled and took three steps towards her.

"Stop!"

Both the T'surr guard and Fynta turned towards the Chiss male looking down from the observation floor. He stared at her with creepy red eyes that looked so much like her mentor's, then waved a hand. "She will do." The guard hissed, baring needle-like teeth in protest, and the Chiss raised a hand casually. "Be still, my friend, she will be punished for her insolence."

"Her eyesssss," it hissed in substandard Basic, flashing a garish smile as he loomed over Fynta. "Give me her insssolensssse eyesssss."

_Shab_.

"Perhaps." The Chiss considered Fynta while he stroked his chin. "I may have a better idea. My master prefers his women to be unique." Turning to walk back towards the door, he called over his shoulder, "Make her pretty."

A large hand closed over Fynta's head, blue fingers just missing her eye and digging into the bridge of her nose. Then she was dragged backwards into the unknown. A cold fear settled in her stomach, sending electricity up her spine. She barely saw the grimy cages filled to the brim with equally dirty women as her imagination ran wild with ideas of what might be to come. Then, Fynta was being pulled through the men's block, where they sat in chains, not cages, but were equally hopeless. More T'surr guards were starting to take notice, then following behind out of curiosity, elbowing one another and nodding in her direction.

Fynta felt her feet lift off the floor, then she slammed into a chair hard enough to take her breath away. A heavy leather strap folded over her torso, locking her arms by her side. Her head swam from the impact, making everything slightly blurry, until the other T'surr started crowding around, all gurgling and hissing excitedly to one another.

The guard Fynta had initially insulted ran a fat finger down the right of her face and neck. He leaned in, close enough for her to smell the rot on his breath. "Such pretty eyessss."

**Coruscant**

Liam was watching the entire thing over the cameras that he'd patched into. The idiots here thought he was a technical genius, wouldn't it be funny to see their faces if they found out that he simply had to proper codes? He was passable with tech, and his implants made up for the rest. But, his true talent was in the art of deception. Liam could lie through his arse with the best of them, and he was a generally likeable guy. People didn't look too closely at the activities of likable people. Especially when they pulled off impossible miracles. Like patching into the security cameras on Orvax IV.

He had to give it to the woman on the screen, she could take a hit. Specialist Wolfe didn't cry out when the T'surr started cutting into her face with that ancient, and likely filthy, tattoo machine. Theron, on the other hand, was gripping the back of Liam's chair so tightly that he thought for sure the whole thing was going to flip backwards.

"Who did she snag?" The man asked through gritted teeth. Shan had never devoted this much anger to any of his contacts. Liam got the impression there might be something going on between the two, and filed it away for use down the road.

Leaning closer to his second screen, Liam squinted at the image of the well-known Chiss. Theron remained focused on the feed that showed Fynta Wolfe, as the hulking guards clambered around her. There were still those out there who liked to mark the bodies of their slaves, just so the slave never forgot that they were no more than property. Liam knew for a fact that this particular Moff was one of them.

"Looks like Trenton," Liam finally answered after the allotted time of examination.

Theron sighed and leaned back, "She got her man." A small smile threatened to give Liam away, he knew Theron had been lying.

When he turned back to the screen, the T'surr were laughing, beginning to disperse, while the woman hunched in the chair. The two remaining guards grabbed her upper arms and hauled Wolfe to her feet. She swayed, then bent to retch. Straightening again, she wiped her mouth just as one of the T'surr backhanded her hard enough to knock the woman off her feet again. Probably for making a mess on his boots. _Shows over Shan_. Liam used the implant in his right eye to activate the virus he'd implanted in the system, and the cameras all cut out just as the guard was tossing Wolfe over his shoulder.

"What happened?" Theron growled.

Liam typed across the console in a flurry, adding lines of code that he knew wouldn't counteract the virus he'd put in. Orvax IV needed to remain a somewhat secret, couldn't have the SIS going back without him to have a look at their operations. "Looks like they've caught on and locked me out. I'll keep working on it."

Theron rubbed his eyes and muttered something to himself before removing his weight from Liam's backrest, allowing him to sit up properly at last. "Fine, let me know when you do."

"Yes, sir," Liam replied. That would never happen of course, because his codes were now useless. Not that it mattered, he now knew who her target was.

Waiting until the man left the room was the most difficult task. It was risky, but Liam activated the Deadzone protocol, shutting out all audio and visual into the room, and opened up his encrypted line to Keeper. "What is it, Cipher?" The bald man asked in the same bored tone as always.

Liam had two minutes before the program attracted the attention of other techs. "Target acquired."

"Go on," the man said in his ear. That particular implant, the one placed directly behind his eardrum, hidden behind the comms device, had hurt like hell. It was new tech, ever updating, and it cut out the need for encrypted holo receivers, which were bulky and obvious.

"Ilum, Moff Trenton. Slave named Nela Toyorla." He glanced over his shoulder; thirty seconds left. "Cipher out."

**Republic Space Station**

"You understand your orders, Sergeant?" Lieutenant Vorne asked. He was an exceptional commander, though he'd been talking about retirement more and more lately. The man was getting up there in years. He'd finally given up on his thinning hairline last year and shaved his head; the hair never grew back.

"Affirmative, sir,' Jorgan replied. He was standing in Vorne's office alongside Torv to receive orders for their next target, while the man sifted through the holodisks on his desk. A rogue SIS agent was selling intel to a Moff on Ilum, and had to be stopped. The information had just come the lieutenant's desk that morning, and Vorne was moving them out immediately.

This wasn't Jorgan's first friendly target, but it still made his gut twist every time. That, and the file said it was a woman. He'd taken out a female Imperial general once, but something primal in him still railed against the idea of shooting women.

"Good, the SIS needs this done quietly, son. You understand that, right?" Vorne asked again. Jorgan nodded, and Vorne waved his hand. "Alright, dismissed."

"This is why I can't stand the SIS," Torv grumbled as they walked back towards the barracks to gather their gear. "No one should have that much access to government secrets until they are military. And a woman at that." He snorted. "Hope she isn't attractive."

Jorgan glanced at his spotter in his peripheral. Torv was a twenty-one year old kid who had a bit of a temper, and a lot of opinions on things. Granted, Aric didn't exactly have a reputation for being laid back, but he knew when to shut his mouth. Torv was still in the training process for that particular skill. So far, the kid seemed alright, and he had an impeccable eye for direction and velocity. For that, Jorgan tolerated the constant chatter.

Jorgan checked his chrono, "Attractive or not, we ship out in two hours, make sure you're ready." Torv nodded and broke off to pack, while the Cathar went to make arrangements for transportation.

The last two friendly targets had been SIS too, leaked information usually came from their department. A person can only lie and steal for so long until it became a permanent part of them. Actually, Jorgan pitied them. That was no kind of life. He enjoyed the simplicity of being a soldier, finding his target, completing the mission, and going home with a clean conscience knowing that he'd made the galaxy a little safer.

An hour later, the two snipers were on a Republic transport along with a squad of commandos bound for the Outer Rim. The four man squad glanced over from time to where Jorgan sat with his sniper rifle, and Torv with his gadgets. They both wore lighter armor for mobility, and the commandos found it hilarious. It was fairly easy to ignore, given that Jorgan needed to figure out how to identify their target. He had a name, Nela Toyorla, and a vague description: blond, blue eyes, and the Moff liked to fight her during the day and bed her at night.

Suppressing a shiver, Jorgan forced himself to stay focused on the aspects that would help them recognize her, instead of what kind of a person would trade their government, and body, to a man like Trenton. The file said she might have recently acquired a new facial tattoo in order to obscure her features. Problem was, no one knew what it was, and there wasn't an image of her in the file. That usually meant she went deep, which also meant she had access to the worst kinds of secrets.

Finally, a large man swaggered over and put his hands on his hips, looking down at the two men on the bench. "Snipers, right?"

"What of it?" Torv shot back, tensing immediately in response to the commando's aggressive posture.

"It's just nice to meet a couple of ya. You know, because we infantry guys never get to see you. Not when you're hiding in your perches, picking your targets off nice and easy," the man sneered. "Must be nice when the targets don't shoot back."

"You want to—"

Jorgan cut Torv off with a look, then stared back up at the man. "Now you've seen us." He wasn't about to get into a fight with an army grunt who's body mass was probably the only reason he'd made it into SpecForce to begin with. These infantry commandos weren't known for having a lot between their ears.

The man snorted, "Yeah, now I have." He turned on his heel and wandered back over to his squad, who all burst into laughter, leaning around to make insinuating gestures at Jorgan and Torv.

"I can take them from here, sir," Torv muttered.

Jorgan just barely resisted a smile, and shook his head. "We'll save their asses one day. _Then_ they'll be grateful." His datapad chirped, and he reached around to unhook it from his belt right as the ship dropped out of hyperspace. It was a message from Synmari: _We need to talk, call me back as soon as you can. S._

The Cathar swore silently, he'd never managed to rendezvous with her before she left port, something she was clearly angry about it. Surely she didn't expect an answer right before an op. Granted, Jorgan hadn't told her he'd be out of contact, but she shouldn't be surprised. His missions were top secret. Closing the message, he hooked the datapad back on his belt. They could talk later.

The marque switched on to announce they'd arrived at Ilum, so Jorgan and Torv collected their gear and made for the shuttle bay. As they passed, one of the commandos cupped his hands to his mouth, "Don't miss!" Another round of laughter rolled through the men, while Torv began muttering again.

**Ilum**

_I can't pull you out if things go bad_. Theron's warning had been echoing in her ears for two weeks. About the time that Moff Trenton decided he was no longer interested in her services. Fynta had been here for three months, seeing to the needs of the Moff and his son. They liked to watch her fight in their arena. Men, other women, animals; the opposition was only getting more deadly. Then she'd fight a different kind of animal at night. It scared her sometimes that she wasn't insane. Did that mean that somewhere, deep inside, she enjoyed it? One of them had called on her every night for nearly two and half months, then nothing. Something was wrong.

"Nela?" It was one of the other women, a few years older than herself, but just as fiery.

It was always odd being addressed by a name that wasn't hers, but after the first week, it became easier. "What is it, Jaka?" Fynta asked in a curt tone, simply because that was her persona here. In truth, she liked the woman.

"You've been ordered to the pits. Come on, time to suit up again. You're getting flabby," Jaka said with a wink. Fynta nodded and followed, concerned that the tension had grown, instead of dissolved at her sudden summoning.

By the time they made it to the armory, Fynta was so wound up that she was almost dancing on the balls of her feet. _Something's wrong._ The thought was in her brain the moment she stepped through the door and realized the racks were empty. "What—" Fynta never finished the sentence. Something hard slammed into the back of her skull, knocking her to the floor.

Nausea warred with Fynta's instinct to get back to her feet, and darkness was clouding the edges of her vision. Jaka squatted next to her, green eyes glittering. "It was you, or me, sweetheart." The woman stood and strode from the room. "Trenton wants her on the block."

The block. _Shab_.

One man grabbed Fynta's arms, wrenching them up behind her back hard enough to make her cry out. There wasn't time for fear to turn to panic, because the man laughed, pulling harder. This time she refused to make a sound. His partner stepped around in front of her and ran his blade across her silk shirt, cutting fabric and skin alike. "I think she's underdressed. Let's make her look pretty for the Moff first." His knife trailed down the sleeve of her right arm, letting the fabric fall away.

After taking a moment to admire his work, he nodded to the other man. "Let's see what the dancers have for her." Fynta managed one good glob of spit to the smiling man's face before her capture yanked her head back by her hair.

**Ilum  
North End of Moff Trenton's Compound**

Torv squirmed next to Jorgan while they lay on their stomachs. They'd been here for thirteen days, still waiting for their target to show. Jorgan had spent most of the time looking down his scope. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tan skin, possible facial tattoo. No other description and no image. Jorgan had taken out targets with as little information before, but half the damn women in this compound were blonde and who was he to decide whether one was tan or not?

There was one in particular that had shown promise. Torv had spotted her a couple of days ago, a woman who fit the description, but had a way of keeping herself hidden, even when out in the open. Jorgan hadn't managed to get a look at her, much less a shot, only fleeting glimpses. There was a tattoo, blue, around her right eye, but that was all the detail he got. Her casual movements, and ability to remain concealed, smacked of SIS training. Training so ingrained that she seemed to do it almost unconsciously.

If Jorgan had to put money on a target, she would be his pick. Which Torv didn't appreciate, because he assured Jorgan that the woman he'd seen was indeed, attractive.

An alarm blared, shattering the morning silence, sending flocks of birds screaming to the skies. So loud that Jorgan ducked his head, pressing an ear close to his shoulder to block out some of the sound. Pulling himself together, Jorgan searched through his scope.

No guards were storming the hills, and the sky was devoid of fighters, which meant Jorgan and Torv hadn't been spotted. These alarms were for another purpose. Torv shoved his shoulder, and the Cathar glanced over to see his spotter pointing and yelling, but Jorgan couldn't hear him over the sirens. Tracking with his scope to where the man was motioning, he saw the large, ornate doors open into the fighting pit. Jorgan realized this was a call to the people that the show was about to begin, not a warning of an intruder. Only, he and Torv had been privy to several fights, meaning this must be something special.

Just as suddenly, everything grew quiet again, and Jorgan could hear the crack of a whip over the ringing in his ears. Guards were hauling a slave out in chains, blond hair thrown over her face, as the men shoved her forward. She stumbled and hit a stone pillar, sliding down to her knees, and swearing in a dialect that Jorgan didn't recognize.

One man walked up behind her, using his body to shove her into the pillar again, while the other wrapped her chains around it and secured them on the other side. She was wearing only scraps of white silk, some already stained with blood, and when she threw her head back into the mouth of the man behind her, Jorgan caught a hint of a tattoo through the veil of her hair. The guard stumbled backwards, holding his mouth, then lunged forward to drive his fist into her right kidney. She growled through gritted teeth and sagged against her chains.

"Sir." Torv's voice nearly made Jorgan jump, he'd been so focused on the scene playing out in front of him. "You think that's her?"

Jorgan continued to watch in silence as a red skinned Sith Pureblood in deep purple robes stepped up with a whip. The people bore witness, so silent in their captivation that Jorgan swore he could the woman's gasp when it snapped through the air, biting into her exposed back. She yelled unintelligible insults over her shoulder, taunting the man. The whip struck her again, and the woman turned her face against the pillar and snarled.

This whole situation felt off. If that woman was their traitor, then wouldn't she be too valuable an asset to publicly flog? Unless she'd outlived her usefulness. Still, that seemed unlikely. Jorgan ran over the details of the target's file in his mind again as the whip snapped twice more.

Jorgan's heart pounded with adrenaline and anger as he sighted up, putting one of her dark blue eyes in his crosshairs. "That look like a woman who's selling out her government?" He asked Torv, honestly curious about the young man's opinion on the matter.

Torv was silent for a long time, staring down the monocular. "No, sir," he finally replied. "She's being punished."

Jorgan agreed. Traitors were publicly flogged, thieves even, but not potentially beneficial allies. Whatever intel might have said, Jorgan's gut told him this woman hadn't betrayed the Republic. She'd betrayed the Moff. With a sigh the Cathar looked over at his spotter. "I don't feel right about this mark." It was a warning, an opportunity for Torv, who would likely go down with him, to object. To tell Jorgan to do his duty.

Instead, the young man leaned closer to his monocular. "What about the bastard swinging the whip?"

That meant Torv agreed, and was willing to take the risk to do the right thing. So, Jorgan lined up the shot. "Yeah, I could do that."

Taking a deep breath, counting heartbeats, holding in between the third and fourth, Jorgan squeezed the trigger. The man's head snapped back in a red mist. He stood suspended in a moment in time, then his body collapsed, and the guards went mad. Blaster bolts tore into the crowd and through the air in all directions.

The woman had her head down, hanging from her bonds to get as low as she could, out of the line of fire. Jorgan couldn't go after her, but if he shot the chains, she might make it out. The stone pillar could shatter, of course, sending pieces into her arms and hands, but that had to be better than her current situation. The next shot was less precise, took less time, but the chains exploded all the same. Then Jorgan was forced to focus on the guards advancing on them, his second shot having given away their position.

Torv pulled his own weapon as they ran, returning fire. When Jorgan looked back to check on the woman, she was gone. If she were an agent worth her salt, she'd find a way home. Right now, Jorgan needed to focus on getting this twenty-one year old kid out of here in one piece.

**Ilum Spaceport**

The place was in an uproar, making it easy for Fynta to slip through the spaceport, even in blood stained silk that barely covered her body. Everything ached; her head from the Keldabe kiss, her body from their rough treatment while they changed her clothes, and the subsequent beating she took when she fought back. It had been a distinct pleasure to see Moff Trenton's head split open, while his brains leaked onto his precious, imported tile dais, though. His empire was burning now, even if it hadn't been Fynta who set the fire.

Focusing on the task at hand, Fynta knew she needed to move quickly if she was going to get off world before they shut down the spaceport, meaning she needed a ship. She took a look down at herself, and realized she had a little to work with. The Moff's desire for a fighter had put meat and muscle back on her, meaning Fynta didn't look like a half starved slave anymore. Ripping away the torn and worst stained pieces of her outfit, Fynta did her best to sort herself, smoothing her tangled hair into a manageable mess, and stalked up to the first pilot she found.

He was a Twi'lek, a dark blue male around forty, old enough by far to be her father by Mandalorian standards. Then again, Moff Trenton had been nearly old enough to be her grandfather.

Squaring her shoulders, Fynta approached the man with an added swing in her step. "Pardon me, good sir." She put a light hand on his arm, bringing the man's wide, green eyes up to meet hers. "Any chance I can barter passage off this rock?" He looked her up and down, settling on the torn pieces of fabric. "There are many services I can offer to pay my way."

The pilot held Fynta's gaze for a few seconds, searching her face for something, then his hand came up to pat hers. "I'm sure I can find something for you, young one." His voice was gentle and kind. "First, we must find you some decent clothing."

Turning away from Fynta, the Twi'lek nodded towards a small freighter. "Go on, get aboard before someone sees you." His kindness was almost overwhelming. When she looked back, the pilot was checking over his boxes. "Those have been checked, want to grab a couple on your way in?"

Fynta smiled, and picked up two of the boxes, maybe her luck had finally changed. Maybe she'd managed to find the one decent man on this entire shabbing rock. Which reminded her, in all the rushing about, she hadn't stopped to consider her escape. How had her chains broken?

Fynta sat the box down, nothing for the first time that her hands were bleeding. They were coated in stone dust, and embedded with shrapnel. The rock had blown apart between her hands, her chains dangling from her wrists. _Snipers_. There weren't any other possibilities. She'd been rescued by a shabbing sniper, and she had no clue why.

**Republic Space Station**

"You're a damn fool, Aric Jorgan!" Lieutenant Vorne slammed his datapad down on his desk with enough force to make the Cathar wince. He'd heard the man shouting orders on a battlefield, but he'd never been on the receiving end of his wrath. Still, Jorgan stood straight and stared at a fixed point on the far wall. The older man put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "What were you thinking?"

"Our intelligence was faulty, sir," he answered simply.

Vorne looked at Jorgan for a long time before pressing. "Care to explain that?"

Jorgan resisted the shiver than tried to crawl up his spine. That woman was brave, she'd faced her punishment for whatever crime the Moff had condemned her, and she'd railed against it. He wasn't sure exactly how to explain it to the war veteran in front of him, though. So, Jorgan cleared his throat and stuck to the facts. "Sir, we were told that we were going in to take out an SIS agent who was leaking Republic intel to the Empire. What we encountered was a woman being punished and publicly humiliated."

Jorgan finally pulled his eyes back to the lieutenant, meeting the man's angry stare. "Seems an odd way to treat someone feeding you information, doesn't it?"

"That is not your call, Sergeant," Vorne said in a voice shaking with anger. "I've got a kriffing mountain of paperwork to fill out, and both politicians and SIS blowing up my holo because you went soft on a target." Vorne came around the desk and put a finger to Jorgan's chest. "If you weren't such a damn fine sniper, Jorgan, I'd have you stripped of your rank and thrown out of the Deadeyes. If you _ever_ disobey one of my orders again, I'll see your career in the latrine. Am I clear, soldier?"

"Yes, sir," Jorgan replied, forcing another swallow through a dry throat.

Vorne rubbed an age spotted hand over his face and turned back to his desk. "You're on guard duty until further notice, you and Torv both. Dismissed."

Jorgan nodded, doing his best to make a casual retreat. He stopped outside to take a shaky breath, then his datapad chirped with an incoming message from Synmari. Jorgan stifled a groan. Having never gotten back to her, it didn't surprise the Cathar when he opened it to find that she had decided to terminate their relationship, although a few of the things she had to say were a bit harsh.

Jorgan hung the device back on his belt, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Honestly, after the day he'd had, the Cathar was fine with swearing off women altogether.

**Coruscant**

It had been a long day. The news had come in three hours earlier. Moff Trenton was dead, killed by the sniper Liam had sent to kill the Republic agent. Trenton had known Wolfe was a mole, and while Liam knew the sick old man liked his toys, keeping her his house was downright reckless. Apparently, so was trusting Republic sniper squads to do their jobs.

Everyone was in an uproar. The SIS wanted to know why a valuable data asset had been executed prematurely, and the politicians wanted to know what Republic troops were doing on Ilum soil, even if they denied the incident completely. And Theron kriffing Shan had vanished as soon as it all went down. Who knows where the man went to? He was a ghost when he felt like it.

Pushing open the door to his lavishly decorated apartment, Liam went immediately to the whiskey. He poured a short, fat glass, and tipped it back, swallowing in one gulp. The alcohol burned down his throat and into his gut, causing him to screw his eyes shut. He savored the brief buzz he experienced just before his chemical detection implants kicked in and injected a scrubber into his blood.

Just like that, Liam was sober again. That was one of the things they never warned you about at the academy. The inability to get drunk. It was a crying shame, because Liam was at his best when he was drunk, or he had been, once.

A sharp pain stabbed in his ear, followed immediately by the piercing chirp of his encrypted link. Keeper wanted a word. No matter how many times he did it, Liam still felt like an idiot standing in the middle of his living room talking to himself. "Cipher Eight," he answered, slipping into his Imperial accent again.

"You've been a busy boy," the man answered in that same dry tone. "I assume you've heard?"

"Yeah, about three hours ago. Target got away."

"She did. Moff Trenton was a fool, but he was a powerful name. Any idea where those snipers came from? We know it was republic ordinance," Keeper asked as if he already knew the answer.

Liam's choices were to come clean, or risk a lie, save his own skin, and hope Keeper bought his bluff. He'd covered his trail well enough, sending the orders through an Outer Rim general of no consequence.

Liam smiled at his reflection in the mirror that hung above the fireplace. "No idea. Moff Trenton has been on the Republic watch list for five years. Their agent got intel out before she vanished, I'm guessing the lead agent sent in a cleanup crew to extract her." He paused, pouring another glass, and swirling the amber liquid. "Trenton stopped being discreet a few years back, he did this to himself, sir."

Keeper was silent for a while, then he sighed. "Indeed. Carry on. Keeper out."

The call ended with a sharp pang in his ear, though he'd mastered hiding the wince that used to follow it. Liam tipped the glass back again, and floated with a crooked smile for thirty-two seconds. He'd survived again, because no one was better at lying out their arse he was.

**Republic Space Station**

Fynta thanked the Twi'lek pilot for the clothes again as she stepped off the ramp onto the Republic space station. He'd fed her and treated her like an honored guest. Even showed her photos of his wife and daughter, all without ever asking about her disheveled arrival on his ship. It had been nice to grab a quick shower, somehow feeling cleaner when she stepped out of the rusty freighter refreshers than she ever had in the lavish tiled showers on Ilum. The rough coveralls were far more comfortable than any of her silk shirts.

Fynta nodded to the guards as she walked through, her head down, but she saw them. A young man with dark hair and a scowl, the other much taller, his full helmet concealing his features. Neither of them acknowledged her as she boarded the lift along with fifteen others bound for the main floor. Fynta kept her hood pulled up on the tunic the pilot had given her until she was upstairs at the rendezvous in the cantina.

As Fynta slid into the seat, she lowered the cover, and leaned back with her eyes closed. The air smelled of industrial oil and that almost stale smell of fatigues from the other officers surrounding her. No one bothered to ask who she was or where she'd come from. Besides, the bar keep knew Fynta well enough, and if he didn't mind her in his establishment, no one else would object.

Fynta was nearly asleep when someone slid into the booth beside her. "Not sure I like the new look."

A smile spread across her face as she looked over at Theron. "Really? It's kind of growing on me." She was now the proud owner an incredibly recognizable, target shaped tattoo that nearly encircled her entire right eye. Those T'surr had a sick sense of humor. He said he wanted to make sure everyone noticed her pretty eyes. Well, a target around one of them would sure as shab do that. Sure, she could have it removed, but Fynta wasn't lying when she said she was starting to like it. Even if she couldn't explain why.

Theron was scowling at her, blinking at odd intervals, meaning he was performing some scan or another with those freakish implants. Every now and then, Fynta liked to rub her fingers over them, just because they fascinated her. Unfortunately, they also appalled her.

"You okay?" Theron asked after a while, slipping an arm around her shoulders, apparently satisfied that she wasn't hemorrhaging internally or about to go homicidal.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Fynta closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, reveling in the familiar warmth of his touch. Making her feel safe for the moment, almost normal. She didn't lean into him or swoon, simply sat there and let her humanity return, one breath at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> shab - excrement (used as a curse)
> 
> Keldabe Kiss - slang term for a kov'nyn, a Mandalorian headbutt. Usually performed with a helmet, a kov'nyn could either be employed to cause injury to an opponent in unarmed combat, or in a gentler capacity between two Mandalorians as an armored greeting, contributing to the "Keldabe kiss" nickname.
> 
> osik [OH-sik] dung
> 
> Other Languages:
> 
> Kriff or Kriffing: a vulgar expletive


	5. Reluctant SOS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron knew things were going to get chaotic as soon as the spunky Mandalorian showed up to bail him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece has annoyed me for months. Theron and Fynta work together in some weird way, but I could never figure out how it all started. Finally, I found their "jumping off" point. As always, Mando'a translations can be found at the bottom. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Light smut warning.

**Alderaan  
** **House Baliss**

Three days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes. That's how long it had been since Theron Shan last slept. Those were the kinds of useless numbers that the SIS agent wished he could disregard. However, since that particular implant aided with his ability to read the binary coding in the computer console he was currently linked to, he couldn't ignore it. Rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, Theron stifled a yawn and got back to work.

The file the agent was laboriously downloading registered at a whopping thirty-one percent complete, and he'd been in there for two hours already. It was Theron's third night as plaything to the head of House Baliss's niece, and if his current progress gave any indication, Theron was looking at a long week with a lot of stims. _Fifty-five minutes left until I have to pull out._ His internal chrono ticked down the amount of time he could be absent from the girl's bed before she came looking for him. The blasted woman rarely slept longer than three hours before she was ready to squander her husband's ample supply of credits on fine foods and expensive wines.

Theron's proximity implant beeped, giving him just enough time to unplug from the console and stash the datapad in his night robe. The door swung open to reveal a busty redhead smiling through a haze of alcohol. "Ian, baby. What are you doing in here?"

Theron tightened the sash around his waist, ensuring the valuable device stayed tucked against his body. "Couldn't find the can. Saw the light on in here," he lied through a false slur.

Bright red brows furrowed at him, as if the woman couldn't remember why Theron's presence in the room was odd. He silently prayed she was still intoxicated enough to make her forget the triple lock mechanism he had to pick to get in. "Come back to bed. This belongs to my husband."

_Clearly you don't,_ Theron thought with some annoyance. Outwardly, Theron plastered on a lopsided grin and swaggered after the red head. _Damn, fifty-two minutes short tonight._ He'd need to find a way to make up for that tomorrow. Suppressing a groan, Theron realized that would take a lot more alcohol and imagination on his part.

Day number four had been the most exhausting yet. The woman wanted to try a few of the new recreational drugs that a visiting Zeltros had to offer, more than one of them aphrodisiacs. Theron had spent all day pretending to be properly tanked as he played sleight of hand with the drugs. Finally, the woman succumbed, and he could get on with his mission.

Hiding another yawn behind his hand, Theron tried not to think about the woman he'd left in bed and the effort it had taken to put her into such a peaceful slumber. He was, however, thinking about the fact that he was going to need sleep soon. Even _his_ brain could only last another day on stims alone, but no one expected this job to drag on like it had. This encryption was far too thorough to hide simple bank statements.

Finally, Theron had been able to sneak away again. The download had just passed thirty-seven percent when the beeping in Theron's inner ear warned him that someone was coming. He recognized the danger too late, the alarm muddled in his sleep deprived state. Theron had just managed to stash the datapad when a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck and hurled him away from the computer.

Theron struck the wall with a grunt moments before a sturdy forearm pressed into his throat. Gritting his teeth, he tried to swallow against the pressure, finding his airway closed off. The man's face loomed into view; a mean looking Devaronian with blood red skin, black eyes, and horns large enough to gore Theron should he so desire.

"Looks like a spy to me," the Devaronian growled through a mouthful of rotten teeth. "Rival gang you think?" A fist drove into Theron's stomach, and the only thing that kept him from doubling over was the restraining arm at his throat. Implants only helped with the slow build of pain from torture, so Theron's gut felt every bit of that punch.

Another man stood behind Theron's horned captor, a human with broad shoulders, waist, and jaw. He wasn't chubby, just generally large everywhere. Theron blinked a few times, trying to focus on the other man through watery eyes. He wasn't surprised to find Antonio Balhath, one of the crime bosses for the Hutt cartel, scowling at him. "My wife's an idiot. I knew sooner or later she'd let this riffraff into my house."

House Baliss, one of the smaller houses of Alderaan, struggled to keep up with their wealthier neighbors. They had been forced to look for outside means to maintain their hold on the stolen Teraan lands. Balhath provided a steady stream of income, and received a lordly title for his services. No one seemed to care what the niece got out of the deal.

Theron considered denying the accusation, but the Devaronian guard reached into the agent's robe with his free hand and snatched the datapad. "What's this?" He asked with no small amount of sarcasm, holding it over his shoulder for his boss. Balhath retrieved it with a snort and flicked the device on.

"Looks like it's locked," the gangster commented. "Got something you don't want us to see, son?" The big man tapped it on the palm of his hand, beady eyes boring into Theron.

The SIS agent was likely looking at a beating no matter what he said, so he'd try to keep his cover intact as long as possible. It would take them a while to hack into that datapad since he'd written the security protocols himself, giving him time to work out an escape plan. Forcing the same lopsided grin he had for the wife, Theron prepared himself for the pummeling he knew was coming. "Just a few holos of your wife." The fist that connected with his temple made Theron's head swim. The attack had come faster than he'd given the big guy credit for.

"Take him downstairs," Antonio growled. "Let's pry those implants out and see what he knows." The mob boss waved the datapad at Theron as the Devaronian spun him around, wrenching Theron's arms behind his back. The last thing the SIS agent saw before being shoved out of the room was his datapad cracking over Antonio Balhath's knee.

**Nar Shaddaa  
** **Star Cluster Casino**

"If that guy smacks my ass one more time, I'm breaking his wrist," Fynta grumbled. The bright red server's outfit she wore was covered in sequins that barely concealed anything.

Sen Dewu, or Big Blue when the Chiss agent was on the clock, guffawed and gave Fynta's rump a rough tap. "You volunteered for this sting. Maybe next time you'll take my advice and enjoy a night off."

Fynta narrowed her eyes at the man before reloading her tray with the next round of drinks for a pompous kid whose daddy had too many credits. The dad was the target, but since he never left their penthouse, the plan was to snag the kid and lure pops out with a ransom. The only problem was that junior's tastes swung wildly between species and genders, so Dewu had called in everyone available to help corner the brat. So far, Fynta didn't appear to be to his tastes, but that didn't keep his guards from grabbing a handful whenever she passed.

Truth be told, it looked like Shasot might have the best odds of tempting the kid away from his security detail. The Nautolan woman wore a silky number in seafoam green that complimented her light blue complexion perfectly. It suddenly dawned on Fynta, _That ord'inii has a blue skin fetish_ , which explained why he eyed Dewu with the same lust as the woman currently curled in his lap. Fynta smiled pleasantly at the guard who eyed her approach. She really, _really_ hoped Dewu won out, because the Chiss man wasn't known for being gentle.

Fynta's earpiece crackled, almost making her miss a step. Epoch was supposed to be on radio silence, communicating with hand gestures only. The static continued without a word, punctuated by only the slight ticking of background noise. Shasot met Fynta's eyes briefly, indicating that she'd heard it too. The familiar pattern scratched annoyingly at the back of Fynta's mind to the point she forgot to make good on her threat to seriously injure the grabby guard.

Dewu had returned to the stage by the time Fynta got back to the kitchen and slipped into the makeshift ops room behind it. The man who owned this little cantina offshoot of the casino allowed Epoch to operate here with no questions asked so long as they kept the local gangs from coming after protection money. There had been no way to carry her datapad in the miniscule outfit, so Fynta dug through her locker to grab the device. Sure enough, there was code running in the background. It was a failsafe, something that should only be used in the direst of circumstances.

"Shab," she hissed.

The music cut off, and Dewu stormed into the back room, snatching Fynta's datapad from her. Anyone else might have received a few broken bones for the impetuous act, but Dewu was Fynta's mentor, and she respected the fact that he could probably kill her before she landed a hit. "You know what this is?" He asked without looking at her, his black, perfectly manicured brows furrowed in concern.

Fynta nodded. "It's an SOS."

Dewu swore, and Fynta flinched. The man was always relaxed and smiling, even while he beat the osik out of his recruits during training. Any time he lost his temper, death usually followed. "You're sure this is his code?"

Again, Fynta nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "No doubt about it."

"Go, we'll handle things here." Fynta immediately began digging her clothes out of the locker to change. She knew Dewu and Theron went back, she just wasn't sure how long or why. As she turned, the Chiss called her name. "Fynta. Don't come home without him."

Dewu's red eyes narrowed, and Fynta felt her heart rate accelerate. "I won't, sir." Death at the hands of Imperials would be preferable to returning to her handler with a failed mission report. _Especially_ this time.

Fynta managed to commandeer a two man fighter and lifted off from Nar Shaddaa in under three hours. She'd deal with the fallout from the unauthorized departure later. For now, the sergeant sat in the pilot's chair with her feet propped on the dash trying to decode Theron's message.

"What have you gotten yourself into now?" Fynta wondered aloud. They'd set up this particular code a year ago when an op went bad, and they'd been separated. She had been badly wounded with no way to get a message out. A black ops squad had finally found her a week after she'd missed her check in. Theron had pulled a lot of strings to get that squad after her, then set up a covert way for them to communicate should it happen again.

Theron, Dewu, Fynta, and a couple of other unidentified SIS agents had access to it. Still, she wasn't sure how broad a net it cast. Dewu assured that he'd let the others know that a commando was on her way to get Theron out so that the agencies weren't tripping over one another. A single soldier would be a lot easier to sneak in than a squad, after all.

Yawning, Fynta checked the chrono. She'd been in hyperspace for four hours, hurtling towards the Inner Rim. It was all the information she had on Theron's current posting. Maybe the decryption program she'd been running since taking off would shed some light on his location. As if on cue, the datapad beeped, stirring Fynta from a light doze. Kicking off the console, she grabbed the device and hurriedly scrolled through the information.

Scowling Fynta reread it.

_**M-10. AIS 5. Red or Black. Retrieve Intel.** _

"Fierfek," Fynta growled and threw the datapad across the small ship, ignoring the way it clattered off the wall. Theron had gotten himself in deep this time and didn't expect to survive. He was calling her for a shabbing data pick up, not a rescue op. The threat ranking and colors being the condition of his health at current versus projections of when she'd arrived.

Regaining control of her temper, Fynta punched in the new coordinates. M-10. Alderaan. "You better not be dead when I get there, Shan."

**Alderaan  
** **House Baliss**

Theron teetered at the edge of consciousness. Balhath had made good on his threat to attempt to pry out Theron's implants, but those had proven difficult, and fried the moment the outer casing cracked. Now, he had a nice set of burns around his already tender skin.

As far as he could tell, Theron had been left alone for roughly two hours. It was more difficult without the aid of the implants. Silently, he cursed how dependent he'd become on them, wondering idly how people functioned under normal brain power.

Theron sat shackled to a chair in the middle of a dim room with the ever cliché single bulb swinging overhead. He'd been left in the tattered house robe and his boxers, nothing else. Theron worked his jaw and ran his tongue over his teeth. A few of them were loose, but none had been forcibly extracted yet. His ribs ached when he took a deep breath, but the SIS agent didn't think any of them were broken.

All in all, Balhath's thugs didn't seem to be interested in anything other than using Theron as a punching bag. Even then, their efforts had been halfhearted once his implants were useless. Theron wondered how long before they decided _he_ was useless and put a bolt through his head. At least he's gotten off that retrieval burst before going dark, maybe Dewu would get an agent here in a couple of days to finish collecting the data.

The sound of heavy boots pulled Theron back to full consciousness. He glanced up at the door as they stopped outside. The deeper tones of the Devaronian resonated through the divider, and they were answered by a throaty, feminine laugh. Before Theron could register the familiarity in the woman's voice, the door swung open, and Theron suppressed a groan.

Fynta had the Devaronian's head turned towards her, locked in a sloppy kiss that made Theron blanch. She wore her standard seduction number—leather pants and cut off vest—and had Theron's jailor thoroughly distracted. It probably didn't hurt that her fingers had latched onto the man's belt, either.

Fynta pressed her body against the Devaronian, sliding her hands up behind his head. The man chuckled against her lips, groping her ass to pull her closer with a rough jerk. "Like what you feel, baby?"

The sergeant stood nearly as tall as her soon to be victim. She was thickly muscled, a fact made blatantly obvious when her vest slid higher to reveal hard abs. "Oh, absolutely," Fynta purred. Resting one hand behind his head, she walked the fingers of the other up the side of the man's face. Before he realized the danger, Fynta wrapped her hand around one of the horns and gave a sharp twist. Theron winced at the audible crack, and the guard slumped to the floor.

"Ugh," Fynta spat, then wiped her hands down her vest. "I'll never get that taste out of my mouth." The woman squatted next to the body to rummage through his pockets. "Do you have any idea what a Devaronian male looks like without clothes on?"

It took Theron a moment to realize that Fynta was not only looting the corpse, but stripping it as well. He didn't like the implications. Her task complete, Fynta plopped the clothes into Theron's lap while she moved around behind him, still complaining about the dead man. "I would hardly call it anatomically compatible."

Theron hung his head with a sigh while Fynta released his cuffs. "Where's the data," he asked, pulling his arms around slowly so that his shoulders didn't grind from being held behind him for so long.

"That was my next stop." Fynta stood by the door, checking the hallway. "Get dressed, we need to move."

Theron forced himself up on shaky legs, staggering slightly as he donned clothing too baggy and short, refusing to think about the fact that they'd been taken off a dead man. He grasped the blaster Fynta held out to him in still numb fingers, annoyed that she'd defied the parameters of the mission. Again. "You were supposed to get that first."

"Di'kut," Fynta muttered. "You're welcome." Before Theron could argue further, the sergeant stepped into the hallway, snapping her wrist away from her body. Theron stumbled out behind her to see another guard collapsed against the wall, a blade sticking out of his chest.

Alarms started a few seconds later, and Fynta grabbed Theron's arm. "We'll come back for the data. Right now, you are priority." They ran in the opposite direction from where the guard had come. Fynta had both hands on her blaster pistol, the barrel angled down like a proper soldier. Theron considered himself more freestyle. That, and he was kriffing exhausted; crashing hard after days of stim abuse and beatings.

Fynta lifted her blaster, taking out two guards in their path, then shoved Theron against the wall. She used her body as a shield, something Theron planned to protest about, until she peeked around the corner. When she looked into his eyes, Theron saw the same determination he'd seen during her training, which never bode well.

"You can swim, right?" Theron opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a suspicious glare. "I'll take that as a yes. Come on, Shan."

Grabbing the cuff of Theron's collar, Fynta shoved him onto the balcony overlooking a waterfall. He hit the railing, and she put her back to his. Even without his implants to estimate the exact distance, Theron could tell it was pretty kriffing high. "Feet first, arms to your chest," she instructed. "Go."

"I'm not jumping off a waterfall, Fynta." A group of guards rounded the corner, and Fynta opened fire with a muttered curse. Theron fired over her shoulder, pleased that his aim hadn't been affected too badly by the lack of sleep and stim abuse.

Fynta elbowed Theron in the ribs to get his attention. The agent hissed and stopped firing long enough to catch his breath. He hunched slightly, wrapping an arm around his torso. "Either you jump, or I throw your ass over, Shan. That's our only escape route now."

They'd whittled the guards down to three when Fynta's blaster ran out of charge. "Go, Theron!"

The sergeant ran at the men, tackling the smallest of the trio. She threw her empty blaster with force at another, his nose erupting into a fountain of blood when the heavy weapon connected. Fynta pummeled the one she'd taken down while the third stared on stupidly. Theron saw his chance, raised his blaster, and took out the threat before the guard could remember that he was supposed to be one.

Fynta staggered to her feet, tripped over the unconscious guard, then caught herself on a piece of furniture. "Waterfall," she growled. "Blue's orders."

Hearing that Dewu had ordered Theron's safe return changed things. No one disobeyed an order from the Chiss double agent, meaning any further protesting on Theron's part would likely be met with violence from Fynta to ensure his compliance.

Theron climbed onto the railing, looked over, and swore. Before he could make the decision to jump, Fynta's hand pushed against the small of his back. Theron screamed as he toppled over the edge.

* * *

Theron gasped as his head broke free of the water. The rapids pushed him under again, and the agent had to rely on his training to keep from panicking. The next time he came up, he blinked away the liquid in his eyes to see that the bank wasn't that far. Theron scrambled onto the shore with half frozen limbs, then looked around for Fynta. The damn woman had made good on her threat to push him over, but he wasn't sure if she'd followed. It would be annoying to have to go back for her.

Swearing drifted towards Theron from downstream, and he staggered to his feet. The agent did his best to ignore the sharp rocks slicing into the bottoms of them. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Theron could just make out the sounds of the alarms of House Baliss, indicating how far down the current had carried them.

Fynta bent forward on hands and knees, long, blond hair draped across bare shoulders in tangled strings as she coughed up more water. Theron gave himself half a second to be relieved that she'd made it out too before crouching beside her. "Come on, we need to get out of the open."

Theron wrapped an arm around Fynta's waist to pull her up, but she hissed and shoved him hard enough to plop him on his ass. "Okay?" Theron stood, rubbing his hands together for warmth as Fynta clambered to her feet, swaying slightly, before straightening with a groan. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine," Fynta groused, waving Theron away when he got too close again. The fact that the sergeant hadn't said anything about wet clothes or made some sort of inappropriate sexual remark should have been an indicator that she was injured. But, Theron was freezing, and shelter snapped to the forefront of his thoughts.

Glancing up at the sky, Fynta put a hand to her ribs and started forward. "Come on, Shan. We've got to find a place to crash before the sun sets. It would be nice to get back into Antilles territory." Technically, Baliss was neutral, but rumor had it that the Empire had been trying to lure them towards the dark side with promises of financial backing and personnel. Not to mention, Fynta had made a mess, which they undoubtedly were going to hold against the Republic.

Fynta and Theron walked for an hour. The SIS agent wrapped his arms around his body, shivering from not only exhaustion and pain, but the fact that the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. What concerned him more than the inclement weather, however, was the fact that his rescuer didn't seem to notice. Fynta hated the cold; that had been her only true weakness during training. Every time Dewu had lowered her core temperature, the woman had seemed on the verge of breaking. She hadn't, but it had been a close thing.

Now, Fynta trudged on, swaying or stumbling every so often, but making no effort to warm herself. Theron forced his legs to close the space between them, but just as he opened his mouth to ask, Fynta pitched forward. The woman didn't even throw her hands out to slow her descent, and she hit the ground with a teeth jarring thud. "Shit, Fynta?"

Theron knelt beside her, finding that the sergeant was completely out. "Shit," he repeated, sitting back on his heels to take in their surroundings. He glanced in the direction where Fynta had been heading and saw a small building. It was the best they were going to get. Theron slipped a hand under the soldier and grunted as he pulled her off the ground. Fynta was far from a lightweight, and Theron was in no condition to be carrying an unconscious woman anyway.

Fynta groaned, her eyes fluttering open as she blinked at Theron. "Hey, can you walk?" He tried to keep the strain out of his voice, but he really didn't think he'd be able to drag her up that hill. Kriff, he was barely dragging himself.

"'m fine," Fynta slurred. She got her feet under her again, but didn't pull away from Theron this time. That, in and of itself, was worrying.

The two struggled up the hill, making it to the structure just as the last slivers of golden light vanished below the horizon. Theron sat Fynta on a bale of hay and decided to explore while she recovered. From the looks of the high ceiling and immense vertical stalls, Theron guessed they'd stumbled upon an old Thranta barn. Judging from the disrepair of the walls and floor, it hadn't been put to use in a long time, probably since the Teraans lived here.

When Theron returned to tell Fynta that they should be safe for the time being, he found the woman sitting cross legged on the floor. Her vest sprawled to the side, and shirt pulled up to reveal a nasty gash along her ribcage. "How did that happen?"

Fynta gave a start, dropping the fabric and glaring at Theron. The man rolled his eyes and slumped to his knees beside her. After a brief stare down, Fynta lifted her arm to let him pull the shirt up again. The wound wasn't deep, but had turned red around the edges, the veins beneath looking painfully blue against skin that was far too pale for the normally tanned woman. "That shabuir tried to stab me while I dealt with the other guard."

"Ah," Theron responded, bending closer to see if there were any signs of infection, or if it was just the cold that had discolored her skin. He'd wondered why she'd taken the extra time to pound the guy's face into a bloody pulp and guessed it was revenge. It also explained why she'd passed out. Between the pain and the cold, her system had simply shut down for a few seconds to reboot.

Fynta pushed Theron's hands away and lowered her shirt. "We need to sleep. You look like hell, and I feel like osik."

Theron sat back and looked at the broken walls that provided only a small relief from the frigid wind outside. "We can't risk a fire, can we?" He knew the answer before Fynta's disgruntled snort. "We could use dry clothes and food."

"You _need_ shoes. Shab, Theron, I didn't even think about that." Fynta leaned forward, shoving him on his ass again, so that she could examine his feet. They'd gone numb a long time ago, which probably wasn't a good sign. "They don't look too bad, but these cuts need to be tended to."

Fynta reached into her back pocket and pulled out two travel packets of kolto. "Here, apply these, I'll work on something to cover them." Theron was about to protest that it should be either saved, or used for her side, then realized it wouldn't do any good. He knew the woman well enough to guess how that argument would go, and she wasn't wrong about the importance of staving off infection in his feet.

Theron had just finished applying the gel to the worst of his cuts, sparing a little for the inflamed skin around his implants, when Fynta returned. "I found one blanket that smells like dwang, and some twine. Time to get creative, Shan."

Fynta lowered herself to the floor across from Theron, pulling a knife from Force knew where, and grabbed her vest. Before he could stop her, Fynta stabbed the tip of the blade into the seam of her durasteel lined clothing and ripped it upward. The bindings snapped under the sharp blade, and Fynta motioned for Theron's foot. He balked for a moment, until she huffed and grabbed his ankle, yanking on his leg until he was positioned the way she wanted. "It won't be perfect, but it's better than nothing."

Theron watched as Fynta pressed the thin strip of metal against the bottom of his foot and used the ties to bind it in place. She followed suit with the other, then sat back to grimace at her work. "That's shabbing awful." There was a hint of laughter in Fynta's voice that Theron didn't understand. Then again, the woman had always had a strange sense of humor.

Theron wiggled his feet, still unsure how he felt about the fact that Fynta had destroyed her favorite article of clothing, not to mention protection, to make him a pair of shoes. She was right, they were hideous, but they also might help stave off infection and frostbite.

"Time for some sleep," Fynta announced, standing to pull off her undershirt. Theron stopped her when she reached for the button on her pants, and the sergeant gave him a flat stare. "My clothes are soaked, as are yours. I'd rather not die of hypothermia because you're shy."

"I'm not shy," Theron protested before he could stop himself. A playful glint entered into Fynta's dark blue eyes, and he instantly regretted his statement.

Fynta kicked her pants off, then draped them over one of the stall doors. The sun had fully set, but the gradual onset of darkness had given Theron's eyes plenty of time to adjust. He had to admit, Fynta didn't exactly repulse him. "Come on, Shan. I know those spooks had to have trained you at least a little bit for cold weather survival."

They had, but Theron hadn't paid attention. Most of his opts weren't the rugged type. He was the kind of agent who infiltrated high end businesses and slave rings on city planets. Or the occasional Sith ship; ironically, he'd ended up naked on that one too. Environmental preparedness usually didn't go beyond knowing how to ask where the 'fresher was in the local language. Fynta crossed her arms, wincing slightly as it pulled at the cut along her side. "If you sleep in damp clothes, your core temperature will continue to drop. They need access to air flow to dry, and you need body heat."

Fynta wore an expression similar to back at the estate when she'd threatened to throw Theron over the waterfall. The agent pushed himself up and shucked his ill-fitting clothes. He pointedly ignored Fynta's smile, and the way her eyes roved over him, knowing the damn woman was only doing it to get under his skin. After draping the shirt and pants over the stall door, Theron turned to face Fynta with arms held out. "There, better?"

The sergeant's eyebrows pulled together as she looked over his torso. "Shab, Theron." He looked down, finally having a chance to take in his appearance. His abdomen was a plethora of bruises ranging from several days old yellow, to fresher blues and blacks. Seeing them brought back all the soreness and exhaustion, and suddenly, Theron didn't care about clothing anymore. He just wanted to be warm and to get some sleep.

Fynta jerked her head to the nest of old hay and blankets she'd put together while he tended to his feet. The two settled in awkwardly, Fynta huffing in annoyance when Theron couldn't stay still. After a few failed attempts, they discovered that Fynta lying with her back against his chest provided the least amount of discomfort for Theron's sore ribs. Wrapping his arms around her, the agent immediately drifted towards sleep as the heat from Fynta's back seeped into his chest and stomach.

Theron couldn't be sure how long he slept, but when he woke, it was with a suddenness that startled him. Judging by the lack of light filtering through the broken walls, and the wind howling outside, he hadn't been out for long. Fynta shivered in his arms, and Theron realized he'd become cold too. Cold enough for his fingers and toes to have gone numb. He might not be the survival specialist that Fynta was, but the SIS agent knew that losing feeling in one's extremities was never a good thing.

Theron shifted onto his back, pulling Fynta with him. He ignored the dull ache in his ribs, hoping that if she turned towards him, it might provide more warmth. The sergeant obliged, and Theron realized she must have been awake for some time. Had he not been so exhausted, he probably would have woken sooner too. Fynta draped an arm and leg over Theron's body, but they felt cold against his skin.

"This isn't working," Fynta complained.

"I'm open to suggestions," Theron answered, teeth chattering.

Fynta's head snapped up, the expression on her face determined. "You won't like it." Theron couldn't fathom what he'd like less than freezing to death in his underwear in a Thranta stable. "Body heat," Fynta continued. When Theron didn't catch on, she elaborated. "And adrenaline."

Body heat and adrenaline, that sounded an awful lot like—"You _can't_ be serious."

Fynta's hand slid over Theron's stomach, and he jumped when cold fingers slipped below the waistband of his shorts. "You don't seem _completely_ against the idea." The heat that Fynta poured into her accusation wasn't lost on Theron, but he knew it for the act it was. He'd trained the woman; he knew all of her tricks. Granted, they'd never been turned on him quite like this before.

"I was asleep," Theron protested weakly. "It happens."

Fynta rolled up, settling over Theron's hips and pressed against him. "Then we should make use of it," she grinned, grinding purposefully.

Theron tried to control his breathing in order to keep his voice steady even as his hands rested on Fynta's thighs. "You have a knack for this romance thing," he responded dryly. While his mind raged against it, Theron's body was completely on board. He'd prefer it if they agreed this time.

Fynta took in his expression, then leaned forward, careful to keep her weight off Theron's midsection. "Then let me set the mood," she purred. This time, she put a _lot_ of effort into it, rolling her hips against his. Before he could protest further, Fynta's lips were on his, and the heat that flooded his body was anything but unpleasant.

Fynta shifted enough to get her hands between them, and Theron broke their kiss with a gasp. "Kriff, this is such a bad idea." Yet, he didn't push her away.

Deep, blue eyes grew darker as Fynta chuckled against Theron's throat. The woman had improved more than he had given her credit for, because the agent was almost convinced this wasn't just about staying warm. Tangling his fingers in her hair, Theron crushed their mouths together.

Theron felt Fynta's fingers brush against the front of his shorts as she adjusted what little clothing they still wore. He sucked in a breath when her still cool fingers guided him where she wanted. Meanwhile, Theron tried to focus on leaving a trail of rough kisses across her neck and shoulder, hoping the shiver that ran through her body was because of him instead of the cold.

Theron thrust his hips forward when Fynta's hand moved, finding her ready for him. She gasped, fingers digging into his shoulder. The SIS agent growled into her throat from the mingled pain and pleasure she provided. He shut his eyes and listened for cues, determined to make this a mutually enjoyable endeavor.

Theron had seduced Balhath's wife multiple times, it was part of the job, no matter how much he hated it. But, it hadn't felt like this. In fact, Theron hadn't felt _this_ in a long time. Fynta knew who he was, and that provided a measure of intimacy that sleeping with a mark lacked. There was no reason to stand on pretense, or to maintain total awareness of his surroundings. It also didn't hurt that the sergeant was inadvertently fulfilling one of Theron's naughtier fantasies. After all, who hadn't considered sex with a teammate in an abandoned barn before?

Their tempo quickened, moving against one another with a dangerous friction that threatened to push Theron over the edge faster than he expected. He cleared his head, measuring his breathing in order to maintain control.

Fynta's arms shook from the strain of keeping her weight off Theron's bruised ribs, breath ragged against his face. As he neared completion, Theron was overcome by the need to feel every part of her. Sliding one hand along her spine, he pulled her down forcefully. Fynta sucked in a sharp breath as her arms gave way, and Theron groaned when she fell flush against his body.

Fynta kissed him hungrily, her nails scraping Theron's scalp, fingers tightening in his hair. She swore into his mouth, her walls clamping down around him as she shuddered through her orgasm. Theron's world went silent as he tipped into oblivion after her, hand splaying across Fynta's back to hold her in place. Nothing existed outside of those few blissful seconds.

The two panted together, coming down from their mutual high. Slowly, the chill seeped back into Theron's body, but the look of satisfaction on Fynta's face went a long way towards alleviating that. Fynta rolled onto her back, both of them groaning in tandem as the soreness from the assorted injuries returned along with their other senses.

Fynta pressed into Theron's side, her body still flushed from their—whatever that had been—and warm against his. "We'll be cold again soon," she whispered.

Theron laughed, then winced and draped an arm across his ribs. "Just give me a few minutes to recover."

* * *

Fynta woke when a sunbeam slanted through the broken boards directly into her eyes. She groaned and rolled away from the offending light directly onto Theron's chest. It took her muddled mind a few seconds to remember why she was cuddled against the SIS agent's mostly naked body.

"Fierfek," Fynta hissed when she sat up too quickly, stretching the torn skin on her side.

Theron came around slowly, taking in Fynta's disheveled state with a few bleary blinks. Hazel eyes widened, and he lifted both hands to his face. "Kriff." The muted curse would have been comical were it not her that had to face the consequences of their actions.

_We're adults_ , Fynta mentally scolded herself, _this is no big deal_.

Pushing to her feet, Fynta went in search of her clothing. While half frozen, she was grateful to find that they were mostly dry. Searching for some way to would make their trek less awkward, Fynta put on a coy grin. "You are to be congratulated, Shan." The man peeked through two fingers, making no move to get up. "I haven't slept that well in ages." Theron's fingers snapped back together, hiding his eyes from view again. Fynta chuckled and nudged his leg with her foot. "Come on, we shouldn't have any trouble making it back into Republic territory today," she affirmed before leaving the man to dress in private.

After a cursory look, Fynta slid the barn door open and did a circuit around the perimeter to ensure there weren't any surprises waiting. The sergeant did her absolute best not to replay _anything_ from the previous night, a task made more difficult when Theron finally joined her outside. He kept his eyes on the horizon while scrubbing both hands through his hair. Fynta eyed it, impressed by the height that motion gave it. She wanted to reach out and touch it again, having been amazed by how soft it felt last night. Fynta dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep them at her sides.

"Thanks for the, uh—shoes," Theron commented, then cleared his throat, still refusing to meet Fynta's eyes. "We should get moving."

"Absolutely," Fynta responded. Theron Shan was most definitely _not_ her type. He was trouble in so many ways. Yet she didn't exactly regret the night before. In all honesty, Fynta wasn't sure how she felt about it and was perfectly happy to remain ignorant. Feelings weren't really her thing anyway.

As the day wore on, the atmosphere became less strained between Fynta and Theron. They resorted to arguing over direction, then it devolved into insulting one another in ever more colorful ways. The first friendly guard station came into view a little after noon, and Fynta grudgingly admitted that Theron had been right about which direction to go. How the man managed to look so damn smug while wearing grimy clothing and strips of leather strapped onto his feet was beyond Fynta.

After showing the appropriate ID to the guards, and vouching for Theron, they were shuffled into a military hovercar bound for House Antilles to receive medical treatment. Theron remained silent on the journey, staring out the window, but Fynta saw his eyes cut towards her every now and then. She sat unfazed, deciding that whatever had happened between them was simply for survival. Nothing more.

The car parked in front of the medcenter, and both Theron and Fynta slapped the nurses' away from them when the hoverchairs arrived. Fynta would submit to treatment, but there was no way in hell she was being wheeled anywhere. The fact that Theron apparently felt the same way earned him a little respect in Fynta's eyes. Not that she'd _ever_ admit to it out loud.

Fynta sat on the bed, arm raised with her forearm resting on top of her head, while the medic tended to the gash on her side. Theron wandered in, properly clothed and shoed this time. He ignored the medic's _tsk_ of annoyance and threw himself into the seat across from Fynta. When she showed no concern about her state of undress, the nurse continued with her task.

The two sat in silence until the nurse stood, declared that she'd done all she could, and left the room without a backward glance. Fynta twisted to see what exactly she'd been doing, finding her torso tightly wrapped. With a sigh, Fynta lowered her arm and leveled Theron with a cool stare. "So, you'll live?"

"Just bumps and bruises. You?"

Fynta shrugged and immediately regretted it. "Fine," she winced. "How long are you down for?"

Theron pushed to his feet and limped around the room, opening cabinets, pulling the lids off containers to check inside. Busy work. "It doesn't matter anymore. You and I are scheduled to head back to our respective bases. Nar Shaddaa for you; Coruscant for me."

Fynta watched the SIS agent pick up a cotton ball and begin pulling it apart. "What about the data?"

Theron gave a humorless snort of laughter. "As it turns out, the Baliss' were suspected of plotting with the enemy. House Organa swept through and rounded up everyone on my list." Theron looked up from his project, meeting her eyes. "One hour after we jumped over the waterfall."

Fynta stared at the man, mouth just shy of falling open. She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and pinched to relieve the pressure that had started building behind her eyes. "Fierfek."

"My thoughts exactly," Theron agreed. "Anyway, the data is no longer important. So, we get to go home." He dropped the dismantled cotton ball in the trash bin, then cleared his throat. "About last night—"

"Let's agree to never discuss it again," Fynta interrupted. Theron's lips pressed together, offering a curt nod of agreement before crossing the room towards the door. "Theron," Fynta called just as his hand rested on the doorknob. When he stole a look over his shoulder, Fynta grinned. "Feel free to give me a call the next time you need an emergency exfil."

The SIS agent's lips twitched in a partial smile as he pulled the door open. "Yeah, same to you, Fynta."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> or'dinii [Ohr-DEE-nee] moron
> 
> di'kut [DEE-koot] idiot
> 
> shab - excrement (used as a curse)
> 
> Osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)
> 
> Fierfek [Fire-fek] a Huttese slang word that meant "hex" or "curse," but was commonly accepted to mean "poison" by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.
> 
> Shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] jerk, but much stronger


	6. High Rollers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron needs help on a case, and things go wrong, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings for the mention of molestation and domestic violence. The middle section gets an M rating.

**Nar Shaddaa**

"I need a girl."

Laughter met Theron Shan's request, and he rolled his eyes. When Senior Agent Sen Dewu finally regained control, the Chiss took a deep breath. _"About time you settled down."_

Theron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you done?"

_"Not even close,"_ Dewu chuckled. _"What do you need?"_

Theron glanced over his shoulder before slipping into an alley. "I need one of  _your_  girls, Blue. I've got a lead that could turn messy. She needs to be able to handle herself." Theron paused, waiting for Dewu in interject. When the Chiss remained silent, Theron continued. "And, look good in a dress too."

More chuckling followed. _"_ All  _of my girls look good in dresses, Theron. Why do you need one of mine instead of a fellow agent?"_ Theron remained silent, pressing his lips together while he tried to think of a convincing lie.

_"Ah,"_ Dewu answered for him, all merriment vanishing from his voice. _"This isn't a green-lit op, is it?"_

"The less you know—"

_"Yeah, yeah,"_ Dewu sighed, then fell silent for a while. _"Fine. What species?"_

Theron exhaled, knowing that he'd have a professional at his side loosened the knot in his gut. "Human or Twi'lek."

_"Alright, I've got the perfect girl in mind."_ Theron heard the rustle of clothing and a woman's moan. He realized too late that he'd interrupted Dewu during—whatever the hell Dewu did in his downtime.

"Thanks, Blue," Theron added, eager to get off the comm. "Oh, one more thing. Not Fynta Wolfe." Dewu chuckled again, and the line went dead.

Twelve hours later, Theron sat in the cafe attached to the spaceport watching for anyone who looked like they might belong in Epoch. Dewu's girls could blend in or draw a crowd, depending on the job. It had become a game; he wanted to see if he could peg the woman before she arrived at the rendezvous.

"Head on a swivel, spy boy." A blaster pushed into Theron's ribs, and he suppressed a groan.

"I specifically asked for you to be left out of this," Theron growled, leaning forward to sip his caf.

Fynta spun around to take the seat across from the agent, flopping into it with a grin. "That was your first mistake." She reached over the table to pluck the cup from Theron's hand. "What's the gig?"

"I'd asked for someone who looked good in a slinky dress," Theron groused. Fynta crossed her arms, displaying ample cleavage over the top of her armored vest. "I see you've replaced your gear." She'd cut the last one up in order to make him shoes. Theron preferred not to think about that job on Alderaan, a lot of things hadn't gone according to plan.

"You don't get this one," Fynta leaned back, grinning into his mug of caf. "So, keep your clothes on."

On that note, Theron pushed from the table and headed for the exit. There was at least some small part of him that hoped Fynta wouldn't follow. He could always hire a dancer.

**SIS Safe House**

Theron sat on the sofa in the suite that he wasn't supposed to be in without proper authorization. He'd decided to hold the op in the casino below to give the target the feeling of home field advantage. Since no one else was using the safe house, Theron didn't see any harm in acquiring it for the evening. No one would know.

"Honestly, Shan. I thought after how well our last mission went that you'd be at least a  _little_ happy to see me." Fynta pouted. Theron saw through it. The kriffing woman was enjoying this; he knew it.

"And,  _I_  thought we agreed to never discuss that again," Theron grumbled. Truthfully, he'd hoped to avoid the young commando for the remaining future. There hadn't been enough time to truly let the horror of sleeping with Fynta on Alderaan sink in. No, that had come days later, when he realized that neither had used protection, and he hadn't cared at the time. It had been a mild relief to see in her file that Fynta was sterile, and that her most recent screening had come back clean. But pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases weren't his only concern. The way she'd made it so effortless troubled Theron, not because it had been easy, but because he'd enjoyed it so thoroughly.

Fynta's reflection in the window smirked. Clasping her hands behind her back, she turned to face him. "I was talking about team work, getting out of enemy territory alive." The blasted woman tipped her head to the side, effecting an innocent expression. "What were you talking about?"

Theron snorted. "Just get dressed. We're on a tight schedule."

Fynta had managed the change from travel clothes to trophy wife in impressive time. Theron stepped out of the bedroom, attaching his custom wrist cuffs to the suit he planned to use to fake his way into the back room of the casino. His target had a tendency to gamble with the black-listers. Nothing short of one million credits would buy entry. Luckily, Theron knew a virtual credit launderer who was really good at creating false bank accounts.

"We leave in twenty minutes, hope you're ready, Wolfe," Theron called, inspecting his suit jacket for wrinkles or fuzz.

A soft chuckle pulled Theron's attention up. "You clean up nicely Shan," Fynta teased as she strapped a taser to her thigh.

Theron's voice failed him for the first time in recent memory. Fynta wore a classy, navy blue dress that hugged her figure, yet managed to avoid being slutty. It shimmered when she let the layers fall into place, but the split that ran up her hip offered just enough thigh in tantalizing glimpses to suggest a mistress. In a word, Theron was seriously considering whether or not to postpone the mission to see exactly how comfortable the bed in this suite really was.

The SIS agent shook those thoughts away when Fynta raised an amused eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the bracers again. "Intel states that the target has a thing for well-dressed men. I'm hoping that you can distract the guard while I cozy up to him."

"I'm sure I can manage," Fynta responded, adjusting the bodice to somehow produce more flesh. Once satisfied, she refocused her smirk on Theron. "Shall we?"

**Casino Floor**

Getting into the illegal Sabacc game was easy enough. Fynta provided a suitable distraction while Theron flashed the fake credit chip. It wouldn't hold up under thorough inspection, but the doorman was more interested in the cleavage on display rather than Theron's credentials.

Once inside, events moved quickly. Theron sat in a high back chair, looking over his cards and trying to make a decent show of skill. The longer the game went, however, the stronger the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach became. He'd been flirting with the target all night, and the man hadn't shown the least bit of interest. Not in Theron, at least; he'd eyed Fynta more than once. It wasn't until the guard coughed when Theron made a thinly veiled suggestion about calling someone's bluff, that he realized how badly they'd gotten their intel wrong. The guard was into men, not the target.

Unfortunately, that called for a drastic change in plans, changes that Theron had no way of indicating to his partner. The only thing he could do was make his move blatant enough that maybe Fynta would hopefully catch on. "I'm all in."

Theron had spent the last two hours losing every credit in his stipend. If he played this hand right, they'd finally have a way in. The target sneered, then laid his cards on the table. "I believe that is the end for you. Good evening, sir."

"Now wait a minute." Theron gestured in a motion of surrender, while Fynta rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "Give me a chance to win it back."

The man chuckled, leaning an elbow on the armrest and propping his chin in his hand. "You have nothing left to bid." His eyes traveled over Fynta in silent suggestion.

Theron leapt at the opening, grabbing Fynta's arm and pulling her into his lap. "You like her, right?" She flashed him a scalding glare before affecting a confused look for the target. "One more hand. If I lose, she's yours for an hour." He couldn't make it too easy, otherwise, the target might get suspicious.

As expected, the man waved the offer away. Theron almost laughed at the man's predictability. "Fine, the rest of the evening."

"What are you—"

"Hush, darling. I've got this," Theron interrupted Fynta's pleas. He hoped that meant that she understood the stakes.

The target took his time considering, his eyes drinking in every part of the woman who now fidgeted in Theron's lap. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. We'll see how your luck holds out."

The whole plan nearly went down the crapper when the dealer dealt Theron a particularly good hand. It took every trick he had to throw the match, and when the target finally revealed the winning cards, Fynta slapped Theron hard enough to make his ears ring. If the target didn't buy  _that_ act, he was insane, because Theron sure as hell did.

Fynta made a show of fighting off the guard when he collected her, while Theron apologized and begged for another chance. He didn't stop until the door slammed. "Thanks for the game, gentlemen," he offered, darting out into the main casino and opening the line to the ear bud he'd given Fynta before leaving the room.

" _Look, whatever he owes you, I can pay,"_  Fynta pleaded.  _"My old man's rolling in it. I just like to play with that loser from time to time."_

The target chuckled, a sound that made the hair on the back of Theron's neck stand on end.  _"A debt must be paid, my dear. And, you were the price."_

" _You really don't want to do this,"_  Fynta continued, playing the part of the terrified victim so well that Theron had to remind himself that she was a soldier, trained for these types of situations. That didn't keep him from wincing at the sound of the man's hand striking her, or the distinct rip of fabric.

Theron paced at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the private rooms, anxious for the signal to intervene. They had to wait for the guards to vanish or risk inciting an incident and blowing the entire operation. Unfortunately, it looked like the target wanted an audience.

Theron tried not to imagine what each sound meant, but he failed at ignoring the grunts and pitiful whimpers that transmitted directly into his ear via implant. It felt like an eternity before the target finally ordered his men away. Theron took that as his cue to bolt up the stairs.

As expected, it didn't take long for the tables to turn. The target grunted again, but this time it was joined by a few choice words from the woman he'd just molested. From the sound of it, Fynta was going to beat the man to death before Theron could reach them.

"You stupid whore," the man growled. A glass broke as the two crashed into something. Then, Theron's implant buzzed with feedback so loud that he tripped, nearly landing on his face. After it cleared, the voices on the other end grew silent. Theron swore. The room was in sight with no goons to guard it, and the lack of sound from inside concerned him more the longer it went on. Theron slipped his slicing tools into the mechanisms of the keypad. They were the longest twenty-six seconds of his life, and when the door finally slid open, he gaped at what he saw.

"Damn it, Fynta."

Theron squatted next to the prone figures, taking controlled breaths. Tasers were excellent if you didn't mind hauling an unconscious body through a crowded lobby. Theron usually tried to avoid such measures when possible. The weapon also had one other drawback. If someone, namely a stubborn blonde who rarely thought about anything before she acted, used it on a target while still in their grasp, then both got the jolt.

Theron now had  _two_ unconscious bodies to extract, and he wasn't completely sure that Fynta hadn't done it on purpose as a form of revenge. Running both hands over his face, Theron puffed out an annoyed laugh. No doubt Dewu would find this kriffing hilarious.

**SIS Safe House**

Everything hurt when Fynta came to. Her tongue tasted like cotton, her eyelids felt like sandpaper, and every joint ached like they'd been turned to liquid. It took several moments to remember why she felt like osik, and consciousness flooded back all at once when she did.

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

Fynta reacted without thought. Her fist connected solidly with Theron's jaw, and she used the moment to roll away. Theron sat on the floor, rubbing his chin. "Okay, I deserved that. But, did you have to taze the guy? You have no idea the stories I had to tell people while trying to get you both up here."

Fynta narrowed her eyes, straightening from her crouch to examine her clothing. Her dress was torn, although it looked like Theron had attempted to mend the worst of it to give her a little coverage.  _Har'chaak, I liked this dress_. "You're welcome," the agent snorted, pulling Fynta's attention back to him.

Maybe it was the snotty tone, or the fact that she was still addled from the shock, but Fynta's temper erupted suddenly and she stormed across the room to clout him again. Theron saw the attack coming and leapt to his feet in time to deflect. "Hey, I'm not the enemy."

Fynta swung again, her movements sluggish and clumsy. "No, but you're a shabbing di'kut," she growled. "Didn't you case this op yourself?" Theron dodged to the right, but tripped over her foot when she caught him in the shin. "You should have known which target was which. Look what he did to my dress." Her anger made no sense, but she couldn't stop it.

Theron sidestepped Fynta's next attack, spinning her around to pin her to the wall. "It's the after effects being electrocuted, take a few deep breaths and it'll pass."

Fynta bucked her hips, ramming her ass into Theron's pelvis and successfully driving the air from him. His grip loosened, and Fynta spun, but the agent managed to snag her wrists. Before she could land a hit, he had her pinned again.

Angry glares ended abruptly when Theron crushed their mouths together. The kiss was as unexpected as it was rough, but Fynta didn't mind. Their bodies pressed flush against one another, making his arousal plain and igniting a flame within her. It had been months since that night on Alderaan, during which Fynta had waited for regret that never came. In fact, she'd thought back on the encounter with fondness more than once, and often wondered if Theron did too.

Fynta sucked in a sharp breath when Theron freed her mouth to leave marks down her neck. His fingers loosened around her wrists, finally releasing her altogether in favor of tugging her dress out of the way. Fynta encouraged him by looping her leg around his hips, tugging him closer. It took only a few seconds to remove any hindrances to their common goal, and for Theron to have Fynta balanced between himself and the wall on the toes of one foot.

Fynta let her head fall back with a moan, and a shudder passed through Theron. She couldn't help but smile when an oath escaped his lips, too muffled to hear what language it had been in. They moved slowly at first, in an effort not to disrupt their precarious balancing act. Fynta focused on the friction of Theron's body against hers, the way he filled her, and the overwhelming sensation of rightness.

Despite their practiced stamina, heat coiled in Fynta's stomach far sooner than expected, and she dug her nails into Theron's back, begging him not to stop. He replied with an animalistic grunt, and his hand tightened painfully around her thigh, the other locking her wrists above her head. Fynta heard someone swear. Maybe it was him, maybe it was her. It didn't matter. Mind numbing ecstasy suddenly encompassed her world.

Fynta brought herself back to awareness by force of will, even though she'd like nothing more than to take a long nap. Generally speaking, this was the moment when one of them should throw their clothes on, thank the other for a nice shag, and vanish before things got complicated. Instead, Fynta dropped her arms and leg, slipping from Theron's grasp to regain her footing.

"That was probably a mistake," Theron managed through a strangled laugh while resting his forehead against the wall above Fynta's shoulder.

Fynta laughed. "Probably, but you won't hear me complain."

"Right." Theron pushed away from Fynta, gathering his pants from around his knees before walking to the table to retrieve his datapad. Neither of them were under any delusions of love, but for once, Fynta didn't feel like killing him. In fact, Theron was . . . comfortable. "We need to have a chat with the target," he continued, scrolling through the information on his screen.

Fynta had just fixed her own clothing when Theron groaned. "Kriff, I stowed the guy in the 'fresher. There's no telling what he heard."

A grin split Fynta's face. "Think he'll mind if I use the shower before we interrogate him?"

As it turned out, the target minded, a lot. So much so, that Theron had threatened to zap the guy again if he didn't shut up. Fynta bathed quickly, then dressed in something comfortable and easy to make a getaway in if need be. When she returned to the sitting room, Theron had the target strapped to a chair, straightening from administering something via syringe.

"Has he talked yet?" Fynta snatched a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter and leaned against the table.

Theron crossed his arms. "Not yet, I think he was waiting for you. He had a few interesting things to say about your . . . encounter."

"Did he now?" Fynta leaned forward, taking a bite from the fruit and swallowing before continuing. "Was it good for you too?" She had just enough time to get out of the way before he spit in her face.

Theron chuckled, "I think he likes you." The SIS agent snapped his fingers to recall the man's attention and waved the injector. "See this, Reese? I won't go into the details, because they are  _really_  boring, but, it's poison." Theron reached behind the counter to hold up another medical device filled with an amber liquid. "This, is the antidote. Tell me what I want to know, and you get it. Simple, right?"

Fynta smiled at the beads of sweat standing out on Reese's forehead as his eyes darted back and forth. "You won't get anything out of me."

Fynta closed the space between them without warning, her fist connecting with Reese's temple. The man swore as he rocked to one side, and she grabbed his hair. "Elevated heart rate causes the serum to spread faster." She pulled back for another strike. "Let's see how high we can go before you succumb."

"Kriff, you want to kill the guy before we get the goods?" Theron hauled Fynta away from the man, motioning with his hands for her to stay back. As he turned back to the guy, Theron shrugged. "She packs a punch, huh?"

Fynta grabbed a knife and twirled it through her fingers while Theron squatted next to Reese. "Look, she's the boss's woman, so I can't keep her off of you for long before I have to think of my own hide. Now, you could hold out until the poison takes effect, and yeah, I'd be screwed." Theron glanced over his shoulder, and Fynta grinned. "But, she'd only administer the antidote, have some fun with you, then blame your death on me. So, you lose either way."

Reese squinted his eyes at Theron first, then Fynta. "You sayin' you can keep that crazy bitch away from me if I talk?"

Theron nodded. "If you give up the information,  _her_  boss will be satisfied. He doesn't want a power vacuum any more than you do, but," Theron shrugged. "The man's got a business to run."

It took Reese a few seconds longer than Fynta thought necessary to make his decision, so she huffed and started forward again. "Okay!" The man leaned back in his chair, trying to put more space between them. "Okay, I'll give you the information."

Theron patted the man's hair. "Good boy, let's check it out."

**Nikto District**

While Reese occupied the refresher back at the Safe House, Theron and Fynta lay prostrate in the rafters of a warehouse, watching the movement below. "There," Fynta pointed, and Theron eased his body across her back for a better angle. Of course, Fynta couldn't leave well enough alone, and wiggled her hips beneath him. "Didn't get enough earlier, Shan?"

"Shut up, Wolfe," Theron shot back, but his lips quirked into an unwilling smile. "Looks like Reese told the truth."

"What did you give him, anyway?" Fynta elbowed the agent to encourage him to remove his weight from her back and repositioned her rifle.

Theron grunted, sliding back into his original position in the confined space. "Saline with food coloring. Same with the antidote, maybe we'll get lucky, and he'll give himself a heart attack before we get back."

"I could always stage a suicide." Fynta glanced at Theron through the corner of her eye, and it took him a full ten seconds to realize that she wasn't kidding. "I've gotten good at those lately."

The agent snorted. "I don't want to know. Here." Fynta looked at the burner holo he held out. "Make the call to the local authorities. We've found the weapon." Theron paused, making sure that his face was neutral and his eyes forward before continuing. "See if you can sound like a scared little lady."

Theron could feel Fynta's glare, and attributed his ability to stay in character to his excellent acting skills. With a sigh, she gave up on intimidating him and affected a concerned citizen tone. The terminology nearly made Theron break his silence with a fit of laugher. She alerted the cops to where a  _bunch of scary men_  looked to be loading something suspicious into a hovertruck. Fynta gave the coordinates, then shut the comm off. "Shouldn't be long."

The two waited in silence, both determined to ensure that the threat was taken seriously before pulling back to safety. "Dewu is under the impression that this is off the books," Fynta finally whispered, though she didn't look over.

Theron worked his jaw while trying to decide how much information to give the commando turned SIS spy. Sleeping with Fynta didn't make them friends. Hell, ninety percent of the time they were doing their damndest not to kill one another. Still, she had as much to lose as he did, and for some reason, Theron trusted her. Finally, he sighed. "I'm helping out a friend who got in over her head. She doesn't know I'm involved."

"Ah, the mystery girl again." Fynta nudged him playfully. "As much as you do for her, I'm surprised you haven't settled down yet."

"It's not like that," Theron growled. "And, she's not my type."

Sirens wailed in the distance, and the men below stopped moving in order to listen. "That's our cue," Theron whispered, squirming backwards towards their exit. Fynta followed, although grudgingly, and not until he smacked her ass to get the irritating woman's attention.

Once back at the hotel, Fynta put on a pout while Theron administered the antidote to their captive. "Good news, your info checked out. You're free to go."

Reese rubbed his wrists, eyeing his captors as he edged towards the door. "Who are you people?"

Fynta blocked his path, distracting him from the question because the last thing they needed was to start a gang war. "Can't I play with him, just a little?" She produced her knife, running the blade along the man's cheek. "I promise he'll survive this time."

"You know the rules," Theron warned halfheartedly.

Fynta huffed in annoyance and stepped out of the way, letting Reese scramble down the hall. The lift doors had barely closed before Theron tossed Fynta her duffle. "He'll come back with an army. We should get moving."

Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Fynta grinned. "It's always interesting being involved in one of your missions, Shan. I'll see you around?"

Theron looked up from stuffing the last few items in his pack, startled by the hope in Fynta's voice. "Probably, if Dewu gets his way." His muttered response seemed to amuse her all the more. They  _did_  work well together, as much as Theron hated to admit it, and Fynta never had a problem bending the rules to get the job done.

"Oh, I'm sure." Fynta stopped just outside of the open door and leaned in. "One more thing, sorry about the punch." She winked, then slipped from the room. Theron called a curse after her, then grinned as he rubbed his jaw. Fynta Wolfe really did have a hell of a right hook. Maybe next time, he'd be able to stay away from it.


End file.
